


Alana Finds Out

by victorine



Series: The Cheating B*st*rds Collection [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: A/B/O, Alana Bloom/Beverly Katz - Freeform, Alana Finds Out, All Hannigram All the Time, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Amnesia, Bathroom Sex, Beverly Katz is the Best, Body Swap, Christmas, Crack, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Hannigram Day, Happy Ending, Light BDSM, M/M, Major Character Deaths in Chapter 11, Naked!Hannibal, Naked!Will, No Not That The Other Thing, One Shot Collection, Prison, Salacious tabloid journalism, Season 2, Sex Pollen, Sharing a Bed, Slight AU: no Will/Jack conspiracy, Sock Garters, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Star Wars - Freeform, Star Wars Day, Tattlecrime, Tie Porn, Will and Hannibal are Cheating Horndogs, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies, behind the door porn, minor smut, not any of the main three though, they love each other though, will's dogs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-28 15:17:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 29,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6334081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victorine/pseuds/victorine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-shots in which Alana Bloom discovers, in the midst of various tropes, that her boyfriend Hannibal Lecter's feelings for Will Graham run far deeper than friendship. Basically a chance for Alana to shout at the pair of emotionally-repressed idiots whilst still indulging in much Hannigram loveliness.</p><p>Previous chapter: Bed Sharing</p><p>Latest Chapter: Twelfth Night</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Discipline

**Author's Note:**

> My first fanfic. Please don't eat me.
> 
> So, I'd like to make it clear that I love Alana Bloom. I'd like to be her when I grow up (minus the steel implants and Sword of Hannibal hanging over her head). That said, whilst devouring the Hannibal archive, I noticed I had developed a somewhat evil penchant for fics where Alana discovers Will and Hannibal are more than "just good friends." Then, last night I couldn't sleep and this theatre of cruelty was born. I may well add more chapters to this, should an idea strike me.
> 
> Also, it should be noted that these stories take place in a very slight AU in which Will does not bring Jack into his plans regarding Hannibal and there is no conspiracy between the two of them. Therefore, all Hannigram feelings are 100% genuine. Because the author is a sap.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alana shows up early for a date and finds Hannibal still... treating a patient.

Alana hummed softly as she exited her car and climbed the stairs to Hannibal's office. It was going to be a good night: she was having dinner with Hannibal at her favourite restaurant; she had managed to extricate herself from work forty-five minutes early; and that meant there was time for a quickie in Hannibal's office before they went out. Assuming he would go for that – he might want to preserve the sanctity of his office, he could be irritatingly proper about such things.

She shrugged as she passed through the waiting room. _It'll be a great night, anyway. You just might have to exercise a little patience there, Bloom._ Not easy, when your boyfriend looks like a damn Viking but she could keep it together. She was a grown woman.

Which did not stop her squeaking like a little girl at the sight that greeted her when she opened the door to Hannibal's office. Her boyfriend – her buttoned-up, mannerly, very refined boyfriend – was on his knees on his office floor, completely naked and _very_ erect. Completely naked, save for a pair of silver nipple clamps and what appeared to be a leather dog collar round his neck. Completely naked and currently giving a blow job to an equally naked and clearly blissed out Will Graham, who held a riding crop in one hand and Hannibal's hair in the other.

This was going to take a minute to process.

A minute, incidentally, in which Will had what was clearly an earth-shattering orgasm, moaning Hannibal's name as he finished. Hannibal who, Alana noted, swallowed with every sign of enjoyment and then gazed up at Will with an adoring expression Alana had never been privilege to.

“Fuck, that was amazing,” Will sighed, leaning down for a kiss.

At this point, Alana felt it was time to interject.

“Ahem.”

The two men froze, lips still pressed together. They stayed like that for a moment, then jumped apart, guilty expressions forming.

“Alana, you're early,” Hannibal began weakly.

She held up a hand to silence him. “No speaking. No speaking from either of you just yet.” She placed a hand over her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Then she turned to Will. “I thought you hated him.” He had the grace not to attempt an explanation.

Alana looked back to Hannibal, still on his knees and _oh, just fuck him_ still hard. “He accused you of being a serial killer. He tried to have you killed.”

Hannibal looked at her, an odd mix of tenderness and – she couldn't believe this – pity on his face and said, meekly, “Love makes fools of us all.”

“Love?” spat Alana.

“Love?” asked Will.

“Yes, Will,” Hannibal regained his adoring expression. “Love.”

“Me too.” Will reached out a hand to him.

“Oh, good grief,” Alana exploded. They turned, clearly having forgotten her existence. “Ok, look, I'm very likely never going to speak to either of you ever again, so just to assuage my conscience, this is consensual?”

They nodded. “Very,” Hannibal added.

Alana groaned. “Just yes or no answers, please. Will, are you going to try to kill him again, including via proxy?”

“No.” Hannibal looked like Will had just hung the moon for him.

Alana sighed. “Ok, and the last entry in this round of _Things You Should Never Have to Ask Your Cheating Scumbag of a Boyfriend_ , do you have a safeword?”

They giggled – actually sodding giggled like a pair of fourteen-year-old girls – and Hannibal squeaked out, “Chilton.”

“Seriously.”

Will pulled himself together enough to shrug and explain, “Guaranteed to kill the mood.” Then they were off again, clutching each other for support.

“Oh god.” Alana rolled her eyes and fled. _Definitely better off out of that Bloom. Those two idiots deserve each other._


	2. A/B/O

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alana and Hannibal are enjoying a spot of cooking together when they have a very insistent visitor.

Sometimes, when Alana and Hannibal cooked together in his kitchen, she imagined they were married, with a couple of kids playing in the yard. It was insufferably twee and not something she really wanted, but occasionally it was fun to pretend. She could see that he would make a wonderful father and though, as a Beta, she couldn't bond with her Alpha boyfriend, that wasn't any obstacle to marriage any more. She knew plenty of non-Alpha/Omega or Beta/Beta couples who were blissfully happy. And, for that matter, the pain an estranged A/O bonded pair could cause each other made many question the wisdom of creating bonds in the first place. Sure, the sex was allegedly _insane_ , heats causing couples to crave each other more than food or water, but Alana was happy with fantastic-yet-sane sex and no strings – or bonds – attached, thanks all the same. Didn't mean she couldn't enjoy a little domestic make believe with Hannibal.

Especially when he had his shirtsleeves folded and his forearms engaged in rolling pastry. _Food porn and boyfriend porn. Not too shabby._

Which was why the pounding at his front door was particularly irritating. She rolled her eyes and asked, “Any chance we could just ignore that?”

He raised an eyebrow in amusement and chided, “I expect such rudeness from Jack Crawford, my dear, not from you. And given our visitor’s insistence,” the knocking was getting louder and more desperate, “I suspect it will be necessary to respond before they put a hole through the door.”

“Fine. Guess I'll go answer seeing as you're all… _doughy_.”

More eyebrow raising.

Alana made her way to the front door, ready to turn away the nut job outside as swiftly as possible. Unfortunately, the sight of a sweating, wide-eyed, half-naked Will Graham, wrapped in a bed sheet and on Hannibal's doorstep rather put paid to that idea.

“Where is he?” Will tried to push past Alana, prevented only by his shaking legs. Instead, he collapsed leaning against the doorjamb and yelled into the house, “Where are you, you unspeakable bastard? Hannibal, you shitbag Alpha fucker, show yourself!”

“Oh no, no, no, Will.” Alana was half holding him up, half trying to push him back out the door. “This is not happening, you are not harming him. Have you got a gun?”

Will paused for a moment from staring crazily into Hannibal's foyer and turned to her in confusion. “What? Alana, no, it's not…” He trailed off as Alana heard Hannibal's footsteps.

“Will?” he asked. “Whatever is the matter?”

“Like you don't know, you bastard. Come a little closer, you can't mistake it.”

“Hannibal,” Alana's voice was low in warning, “don't move, I can talk him down from this.”

“Alana,” Will gasped in exasperation, “you don't understand. He…” Will flung out a hand towards Hannibal.

“He, _what_ , Will?” Alana turned to look at Hannibal for an answer, then watched in confusion as he stepped forward and scented the air with a look of wonder.

“Will,” he breathed, “you're in heat.”

Alana snapped her head back round to goggle at Will. “Wait, what? Will, you're a beta, you can't be in heat.”

“Suppressants, and artificial beta scent. Since I was a kid. So I could live harassment-free. Until your glorious bastard of a boyfriend switched them for placebos!”

“Hannibal, no.” Alana gasped. The look on his face confirmed it. “Why?”

“You could've just asked me, you know,” Will spat, before the other man could answer, “I already slept with you. I already loved you.”

“The hell?” Alana exclaimed. “When did you sleep together?”

“Before prison,” Will said and then cringed. “And a few times after. And two days ago. Sorry.”

“I… don't believe this.” Alana sat down heavily on the pristine floor.

“Will, you wouldn't talk to me about bonding after prison,” Hannibal was pleading.

“Can you blame me?”

“I cannot. Yet I thought if I induced your heat, you would be forced to confront the depth of your feelings. And, well,” he looked up shyly, or as shyly as Hannibal could muster, “you are here.”

“Yeah,” Will sighed, “I am here.”

They looked at each other for a moment, then Hannibal was crossing the distance to take Will in his arms and kiss him with a passion that knocked the breath from them both.

“Just so you know,” Alana muttered from the ground, “I hate you both very much.”

Hannibal separated from Will long enough to say “Alana, I am sorry. I apologise and will continue to do so for as long as it takes to gain your forgiveness.”

“You got all eternity, buddy?”

“That said, Alana,” Will added, with an irritatingly goofy grin on his face, “I would get clear of the house right now, cos this is gonna get messy.”

“Oh god.” Alana scrambled to her feet, shot through the door and slammed it behind her, still wearing her apron. _Not getting this back, you prissy bastard_. Clearly she was just in time, too, because a second later the door jolted with the force of a body being tackled against it.

Alana then heard, muffled by the door, “You are going to knot me and bond me, you lunatic. You wanted me, you got me. For life.”

“Could we at least adjourn to the bedroom in order to…”

“Nope. On your beautiful floor. Your punishment.”

Then, a variety of moans, getting mercifully fainter as Alana fled. Getting into her car, she resolved two things: one, no more getting involved with alphas, omegas and their whole weird deal; and two, she needed a drink.


	3. Mistaken Identity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alana decides to wake Hannibal in the nicest way possible... and gets an eye-opener of her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will actually doesn't appear in this one but his presence is certainly felt!

Alana loved waking up next to Hannibal. Admittedly, part of this was down to his insanely comfortable mattress and preference for silk sheets. And an even bigger part of it was due to the prospect of a Hannibal-cooked breakfast, which everyone on earth should get to experience at least once. But mostly, she just liked lying next to him, his solid mass warm and appealing, speaking to her of comfort and affection.

This morning, he also spoke of sex. Hannibal was clearly in the middle of a very nice dream, which Alana had every intention of bringing to waking life. Sneaking carefully beneath the sheets, Alana was pleased to see he was still naked from the night before. Removing pyjamas was tough to do without waking the wearer. Placing herself level with his erect cock, she began her wake-up. Listening with satisfaction to the sleepy moans of pleasure from above becoming increasingly lucid, Alana had just swallowed Hannibal whole when she heard the last thing she expected.

“Oh darling, just like that, you're so good to me, my darling boy.” _Boy?_ “Oh, _Will_!”

Alana ceased all activity. “I'm sorry, what did you call me?” She looked up as the sheets were thrown back and a very startled, very shifty looking Hannibal came into view.

“Good morning, Alana. I'm so pleased you're here.”

“I asked,” Alana growled between gritted teeth, “ _what did you call me?_ ”

“I didn't, Alana, I was going to say ‘ _Will_ you keep doing that?’”

“Oh my god, you complete shit! Don't lie to me while I'm still between your legs! You know what?” Alana grabbed and _twisted_ , causing a noise to come from Hannibal of which no human should have been capable. “I knew there was something weird between you two. You know, the eye fucking isn't subtle.” She threw herself from the bed, grabbing her clothes from the chair – because of course she’d folded them because Hannibal preferred it – and made for the front door.

“I'm sorry, Alana, wait!” Hannibal gasped through his pain and curiosity stopped her progress.

“What,” she spat, “could you possibly have to say?”

A beat and then, “Do you believe Will might reciprocate, then?”

“Oh god.” She turned on her heel and fled.

“Do you think I should call him?”


	4. Soulmates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alana and Hannibal don't match, but someone else does.

“Does it ever bother you,” Will asked, “that you and Hannibal don't match?”

Alana tilted her head and looked warily at him. Seated across from her at Hannibal’s dining table, Will had that cold, bitterly sarcastic tone he seemed to be locked in since his release. He was intent on goading them, apparently, despite Hannibal's forgiveness and renewed hospitality.

“We match in all the ways that matter,” Hannibal told him, from his seat at the table’s head, taking her hand in his and shooting her a warm smile.

She couldn't help but turn a triumphant expression on Will, adding, “You know the soulmate marks are bullshit anyway. Not everybody even has one. _You_ don't. And not everybody’s stays the same.”

“Indeed, Will,” Hannibal took over from her and she smiled at the way their thoughts ran parallel. “New marks can appear, or old ones can transform. A person’s ideal mate can change as the person changes.”

“Yeah, I'm very aware of that.” Will curled his lip at Hannibal, who smiled in response.

Rising to refill their glasses, Hannibal adopted what Alana thought of as his _Professor Lecter_ tone and mused, “Of course, when a soul bond is forged, it does seem to result in notably passionate and devoted relationships. It is rare for bonded pairs to separate.”

Will snorted, in apparent disgust. “Why Doctor, you sound rather taken with the idea. Watch out, Alana, seems like he's still on the lookout for a closer match.”

“ _Will_ ,” she hissed, “you are being unbelievably rude!”

Hannibal took her hand again and hushed her protest. “It is quite alright, Alana. Will is still recovering from his ordeal in prison. I expect it will take him some time to regain his manners and I am willing to be patient while he does.” Alana sensed an odd undercurrent in his words, a subtle threat that Hannibal's patience was not unending, and was glad that Hannibal wasn't indulging Will _completely_.

“In any case,” the doctor continued, “it may interest you to know that I did spend some time looking for my mate, when I was younger. I registered with the usual agencies – in fact, I believe they still have my details on file – but no match was ever located. As I am not in the habit of simply waiting around for fate to decide for me, I decided long ago to make my own romantic decisions and search for someone for whom I needed no mark to dictate my affections. And, given that no match has been forthcoming, not to mention the quality of the company I keep,” he beamed at Alana, “I believe the decision was a good one.”

Will seemed to seethe at these words, and stood from the table, glaring at Hannibal’s placid expression. “In that case, Doctor, it may interest _you_ to know that your long search is over.” He hauled his shirt up to reveal the skin of his stomach. Off to the side, just above his waistband, was a soul mark, small but unmistakable. A blue and white teacup, seamed with gold.

“Oh,” breathed Hannibal.

“That’s,” Alana began.

“Just like his?” Will growled. “Yeah, funny, isn't it? Turned up in prison. One day, nothing, next day _bam!_ Hannibal Lecter’s fucking mark on me. He framed me, got me locked up in prison and somehow, that made me into his soulmate! Let me tell you, I laughed so hard Chilton had to sedate me.” He leaned across the table towards Hannibal. “Well? I showed you mine…”

Wordless, his gaze never breaking from Will’s mark, Hannibal rose. Meticulously, painfully slowly, he removed his jacket and vest, before lifting his own shirt to reveal, in the same place as Will's, though the opposite side, a matching mark.

Alana knew she was staring. It made no sense. There was nothing romantic between Will and Hannibal, she would have seen it. Yet, she had never seen such an expression of unguarded adoration on Hannibal’s face as it wore now. And Will's roiling disapproval of her dating Hannibal... _I thought he was jealous because of me._ Needing to escape her thoughts, she blurted out, “What does this mean, Hannibal?”

“Yeah, Hannibal,” Will's tone was bitter but there was a desperate edge to it, “what does this mean?”

“It means,” Hannibal murmured, watching Will closely, “that since the moment I met you, I have done everything in my power to make you mine, as I am yours. And now you are.”

Alana wasn't sure she wanted to think about the implications of that statement. She certainly didn't want to watch what happened next, as Hannibal caught Will by his shirt and pulled him into a needy, claiming kiss. Will didn't put up much of a fight, she noticed.

“Hannibal,” she exclaimed, trying to keep her voice steady, “what are you doing?”

“I am kissing my soulmate, Alana. I apologise for my rudeness but under these extraordinary circumstances…”

“What?”

“Would you mind showing yourself out?”

She glared. “You're kidding, right? You don't even believe in this nonsense!”

“I believe in Will.” Hannibal's besotted tone made Alana feel nauseous and caused Will to blush, hiding his face in Hannibal's shoulder.

“I'm so sorry, Alana,” he said, voice muffled in his mate’s skin, “I never meant for this.” He waved a hand in the general direction of their soul marks.

“Oh god,” she sighed, “ _whatever_. You're welcome to each other. Good luck with recovering his _manners_ , Hannibal.” She stormed from the house, slamming the door, feeling childish and furious. _Soul marks_ , she thought, pulling her car over at the first decent-looking bar she found, _more trouble than they're worth_.

Nursing a beer with a whiskey chaser, she ran a finger across the mark on her inner elbow. A chestnut-coloured horse galloping across her arm, its mane flowing behind it. Like everybody with a mark, she'd registered with the agencies but had never got a match. Like Hannibal, she'd decided not to let that stop her from being happy. It was one of the reasons she’d thought they had matched so well.

 _Would I forgive you anything?_ she wondered of her unknown mate. _Would you do anything to have me?_ It didn't seem likely, though the possibility made the sting of losing Hannibal easier. She’d lost him, she'd known, the second Will had exposed his mark. In fact, in light of Hannibal's admission, it seemed she’d never had him at all. She hoped it was worth it, for Will, for Hannibal, for her unclaimed soulmate, waiting for her, somewhere in the dark.


	5. Amnesia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hannibal has amnesia (but still adores mongooses... mongeese? Anyway...), Will worries a little too much and Alana has a realisation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, yeah, apparently I just can't leave well alone.

Hannibal Lecter has an eidetic memory, of such power it requires a stringently-mapped mental space – a _palace_ – to wrangle it.

Hannibal Lecter speaks numerous languages, all of them fluently. He may be incapable of poor grammar.

Hannibal Lecter possesses thousands of books, housed in the office of his psychiatric practice and throughout his home. He knows precisely where to find any book required from these, on demand.

Unfortunately, Hannibal Lecter does not currently know his own name. Or where he lives. Or that he's a cannibalistic serial killer, but fewer than five other people on the planet know that and only one of them is currently on the same continent, so it's not likely anyone's going to ask.

He also cannot remember the identity of the woman sitting next to his bed, though Alana has told him, several times, her name and that they are friends and colleagues. She has not yet told him that they're dating, as the relationship is only new and she doesn't want to overload him with information. He's probably guessed at it already as Hannibal, even with what is hopefully temporary amnesia, is nothing if not intelligent and she has been by his side for hours now, clasping his hand whenever there aren't other doctors in the way.

She suspects even if she told him right now, he wouldn't take it in, given the effects of the painkillers he's on to counteract the injuries – _extensive but not life-threatening_ – he had sustained in the car crash. Currently he is too engaged in humming softly and gazing, apparently enraptured, at something on the ceiling.

“I can see the stars,” Hannibal says, with a kind of hazy childlike glee.

“Through the ceiling, Hannibal?” Alana asks, amused.

“Mmm. They go _twinkle, twinkle_. All the pretty lights. I could reach out and crush them all and bake them into cakes.”

“That's nice, sweetie.” _Even high, with no memories, it's still all food and poetry._

She pats his hand indulgently and looks up as the doors swing open, expecting a doctor with another round of tests. Instead, she sees Will Graham burst in, wincing as he notes the bruises and wounds littering Hannibal's body and looking inexplicably out of breath and panicked. He continues to stare at Hannibal with a look pitched somewhere between pain and relief, then unsubtly attempts to rein it back in to friendly concern when he notices Alana.

“Jesus,” he blurts out and waves a hand towards Hannibal, trying to breathe evenly, “he looks rough. Is he gonna be ok?” He takes a step towards the bed, watching Hannibal watch the ceiling and fails miserably to look casual. “Sorry, I just… Jack only just told me about the crash and I…”

“Ran all the way here, by the looks of you,” Alana supplies, confused but amused by his reaction.

“Well, drove, most of the way,” Will gives her a sheepish grin. “But, yeah, those stairs out there are steep. And numerous.”

“They have elevators.”

“Yeah, I… I think maybe I hit my head too. Is it true, about the memory loss?” He doesn't even try to mask the look of concern now.

“Just temporary, most likely.”

“His memory palace just needs putting back together.”

“Did you say memory palace?” Hannibal's attention has finally come down from the ceiling, settling instead on Will, at whom Hannibal is gazing as if he were the brightest star in his imaginary sky.

“Sure did, Doctor,” Will steps around to stand at Hannibal's bedside. “Recognise the phrase?”

“No,” Hannibal replies with a grin, “but it sounds _wonderful_.” He cups Will’s face with his hand and strokes a thumb down his cheek. Will looks discomfited but does nothing to dislodge him, though his eyes dart to Alana in embarrassment.

“I was worried you were dead,” Will mutters.

Hannibal looks delighted. “How kind of you to worry. You're beautiful. Are you taken?”

Will blushes and now does pull away from Hannibal’s touch. “N-no. Not really.”

_Not really? That's interesting._

Will looks over at her and asks, “Just how high is he?”

Alana points to the ceiling and says, “I think he cleared the atmosphere a little while ago.” They smile, with shared fondness for the man between them and for a moment it is like nothing has changed. Then Alana remembers that Will is not supposed to have any fondness left for Hannibal. “Why are you here?” she asks, eyes narrowing. “Hoping the truck did what your little admirer couldn't?”

Will looks guilty for the briefest of moments, then simply looks sad. “I found myself compelled,” he mutters, as if it hurts to admit, “to check he wasn't gone. Even when I want him gone, I still don't feel right until I know he isn't.”

 _Will loves him._ It hits Alana with the pure simplicity of truth. Will may hate Hannibal, may believe him capable of evil deeds, but he could not survive separation from him. He's totally, utterly, irrevocably, mad-dash-to-your-partner’s-hospital-bedside in love with Hannibal Lecter.

And judging by Hannibal's instinctive reaction to Will, the feeling is not one-sided.

And that's really awkward, because Alana’s dating him. And while she's fond of Hannibal, and an enthusiastic fan of sex with Hannibal, she is not and never has been, in love with Hannibal. Which means she needs to gracefully extricate herself from this room and let the two men – _emotionally repressed idiots_ – sort out whatever strange courtship they've wandered into. Not before she has a quick chat with Will about _boundaries_ and the ill-advised nature of trying to kill your prospective partner, though.

“Ok, look,” she tells Will, wanting this over quickly, “he's due for another dose in ten minutes and that should knock him out for a while. Go get us some coffees while I wait until he's sleeping and bring them back here. I think we need to talk about some things.”

Will shoots her a vaguely hunted look but sighs with relief when he sees her small smile. “Back soon,” he tells the room in general and gives Hannibal what he probably thinks is a perfunctory glance but might as well come with a giant neon sign reading _Will Graham hearts Hannibal Lecter and is very glad that he's still alive_.

“Alana,” Hannibal says when Will is gone, “I think I may remember something about that man.”

“Oh?” Alana is exhausted but this might be progress. Hannibal is still her friend, even if he won't be her partner for much longer.

“Is his name William?”

“It is, that's great Hannibal. Your memory's coming back.” _Of course he remembers Will before anything else._

“I remember, we were in an office. Lots of books. I remember kissing him. I think I love him, is he my boyfriend?”

 _Oh god._ This would be sweet in any other situation. “Yeah, Hannibal,” she sighs, resigned, “I think he is.”


	6. Prison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chilton is a shit-stirring weasel and Alana rates a performance "0/10, would not watch again".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just can't stop! Plus, Chilton makes an actual appearance!

If Frederick Chilton could only choose to be smarmy _or_ incompetent, mused Alana Bloom, he might at least be tolerable. It was the combination of the two, currently strutting before her in less-than-glorious technicolor, that made him truly unbearable. Few humans could rob Alana of her innate kindness and patience, but her colleague – _and I use the term loosely_ – was top of that list. Even Hannibal, she knew, could barely keep a veneer of civility when confronted with the man and her boyfriend could show courtesy to all comers.

_Boyfriend. Hmm._

That was, as yet, an unspoken concept between them. The relationship was barely old enough to warrant the term and certainly not to provoke _that_ discussion. Still, she had known upon changing the nature of her friendship with Hannibal, that it would not simply result in a fling. So it wasn't surprising that she found herself trying on the terminology, just to see how it fit.

Still, Chilton's office in the Baltimore Secure Hospital for the Criminally Insane was hardly the place for such considerations. Therefore, she dragged her mind from such pleasant thoughts and back to the infuriating peacock before her.

Chilton had seated himself behind his desk and watched as Alana refused to do the same, a twinkle in his eye that concerned her. “Dear Alana,” he began, “always such a delight to see you here in my little kingdom. Such a shame I could never convince you to take a job here. I'm sure we would work quite effectively together.”

 _Ick_.

She gave him a bright but brittle smile. “I prefer a more academic environment, Frederick.”

_Not to mention I despise your techniques, your philosophy and your wandering eyes._

“Hmm. Such a shame to waste that mind on students and stuffy old men, I've always thought. But you are your own woman, to a fault, Dr Bloom,” he grinned.

She stifled a sigh and asked, “May I enquire as to why you asked me here, Frederick?” He had called unexpectedly, begging for her assistance with some vague matter. Though tempted to put him off, there had been a desperate edge to his tone that had worried Alana more for whatever patient was suffering from his incompetence than for Chilton himself and so had agreed to the consult.

_It might be Will._

She shoved that thought back into the locked box in her mind with force. Will was… complicated and Alana found that once she started thinking of him it was difficult to stop. The thoughts were painful, anyway, and Alana wouldn't make herself vulnerable in front of Frederick, so it was better to shut her imaginings down until she could deal with them properly.

“Ah yes, of course, the matter at hand. It is… rather delicate and I felt your estimable compassion might be of use. If you would just turn your attention,” he gestured towards one of the monitors gathered in his room. Chilton's love for surveillance only added to his creepiness. “I believe the show should be underway.”

The monitor flickered to life and Alana could see it showed one of the hospital’s private interview rooms. Within, cuffed and chained to the table, was Will Graham, his hair a mess, his face drained and exhausted-looking. This wasn't what drew a gasp from Alana, though. Instead, it was the room’s other occupant, seated placidly across from Will, the man Alana absolutely was not already thinking of as _her boyfriend_. The man who had very definitely not told Alana that he was planning to see Will when she left his house this morning.

She watched, eyes narrowed, as Hannibal rose from the seat opposite Will to move into the one next to him.

“Why are they in a private room?” she asked, giving nothing away in her tone.

“Rather than the cages? Of course, they met there initially but Hannibal was quite keen to have Will to himself.” Frederick was practically leering. “More intimate, I suppose. He even requested I shut down the video feed but, of course,” he scoffed, “neither the great Hannibal Lecter nor the oh-so-special Will Graham warrant such privileges.”

_Intimate._

“Why are you showing this to me, Frederick?” she asked, turning from the screen. _Apart from the entertainment value, of course._

“Ah well, I find some of their behaviour rather… unusual. I was hoping you might provide some insight. Ah yes, such as this,” he pointed at the screen. Turning back, Alana could see no difference for a moment, then realised that Hannibal had taken hold of Will’s hand.

“Holding hands with a prisoner, excuse me, _a patient_ , seems somewhat unorthodox, even for Hannibal,” Frederick said, clearly delighted with his game. “Makes you wonder what his bedside manner must’ve been like.”

Alana’s mind spun. Loathe as she was to agree with Chilton on anything, she could find no reason for the gesture, on either man’s part. Especially given what Will had accused Hannibal of.

“Perhaps,” she began slowly, grasping for understanding, “Hannibal is trying to remind Will of their friendship, to help him accept responsibility for his actions.”

“Mmm,” Chilton considered, “I suppose that is possible. Will certainly wasn't amenable the first few times Hannibal tried it but he seems to have become quite comfortable now. Indeed, I believe he instigates as often as Lecter does.”

“How long has this been going on, Frederick?”

“Some weeks,” he replied, not bothering to keep the glee from his voice.

_How long have you been sleeping with him, Alana?_

Watching the monitor intensely, Alana noted the way the two men’s fingers were intertwined, the closeness of their bodies. Their conversation seemed to have grown heated but there was no anger on either set of features. Then, just as Hannibal seemed to jolt in his seat, the screen went blank.

“What happened?” Alana snapped at Frederick.

“I... I… don't know,” he replied lamely, fiddling with a remote, then limping towards the monitor to scrabble at its controls.

“Frederick, we have to get down there now. Hannibal's in danger.”

“Mr Graham is cuffed and chained, Alana, he is of no threat, there is no need to panic.”

“He's an ex-cop with FBI training, Frederick, you think he can't get out of those if he wants to?”

Chilton turned pale.

“Cells, now,” she commanded, “and sound the alarm.” To his credit, Chilton obeyed without a word and led Alana to the private rooms in tense silence, broken only by the warning sirens. They arrived just slightly before security, to the sound of Will’s voice growling Hannibal’s name at full volume, followed by a series of pained-sounding moans.

“Good god, he's killing him!” Frederick cried, ever keen to elevate the drama.

Alana’s stomach turned, her whole body vibrating with fear, but she stood directly opposite the door, waiting to see. She could already see the scene in her mind, the way she imagined Will saw a crime scene: Hannibal's wrecked, broken body on the floor, Will's psychosis painted in red across his face. She could barely breathe as the guards flung open the door.

She could barely think when she saw into the room.

No blood. No broken bones. No carnage.

Just the sight of Will Graham, bent over the table – still in his cuffs – with Hannibal Lecter buried deep inside him. And given the looks of ecstasy that had swiftly turned to shock and shame – _not nearly enough_ – it was wholly consensual.

Not to mention Will’s erection, around which Hannibal had curled a hand.

_Oh. God._

She fled the room before they could see her, though not quickly enough to miss Will turning to kiss Hannibal ferociously before the guards moved to separate them.

“Alana!” Frederick followed her out of the cell, calling apologies. “I am so dreadfully sorry you had to see that, my dear. I will of course ensure Dr Lecter's immediate removal and exclusion from the hospital and Will will receive the sternest of discipline.”

Alana spun to face him and spat, “Put them together in the same cell for all I care, Frederick. I'm sure they'd provide you with endless entertainment!” She went to march away again but Chilton wasn't done yet.

“You know, my dear Dr Bloom,” he called, a leer crawling through his voice, “if you require some comfort after this unfortunate incident I am, as always, at your service.”

Alana froze. She cut off the shudder her body wanted to give. Then she walked back to Frederick, slow and deliberate. She leaned in close, voice low and hushed. “Frederick,” he met her gaze with a combination of lust and disbelief, “if you ever hit on me again, I will ensure you are locked in that room, with those two men and no hope of rescue. And I will leave it up to them to decide into which end of your worthless carcass your cane is inserted.” She patted his cheek. “Got that?”

Frederick swallowed and managed to give an “Mmm,” of assent.

“Good boy.” Then Alana turned on her heel and stalked away, leaving the sirens, the shouting and the collection of disappointing men far behind her.


	7. Sex Pollen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a mysterious substance is discovered, Zeller is an idiot and Alana just can't catch a break (or can she?).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, ladies and gentlemen, the most ridiculous trope of them all: Sex Pollen! Price and Zeller are, inevitably, involved.

“But look, it's cool, kinda like the little dried flowers you make tea from.”

“Chamomile,” Hannibal supplies.

Price and Zeller have gathered Will, Alana and, since he was visiting Alana for a lunch date, Hannibal, in the lab to show them a strange substance found at a recent crime scene. The four men are gathered around a bench, Price and Zeller on one side, Hannibal and Will on the other, looking slightly awkward and less than amused with the techs’ antics. Alana has been shunted into a corner, away from Hannibal _for their own good_ , whatever that means.

“Right,” Zeller continues, removing the lid from the container and dipping a finger in, “but blue. Really, really blue.” The substance does seem to glow, as if bioluminescent.

“Zee, I would be really careful with that,” Price says warily.

“Oh, what?” the tech scoffs. “It only works on people with a shared, pre-existing attraction. Alana's way over there and no one else in here's gonna have a problem.” Alana thinks she sees Price’s eyes flick over to Will and Hannibal for a second but before she can analyse that reaction, Zeller is holding his hand up to his mouth. “Look, I'll prove it.” He blows the pollen across the bench, where it lands on Hannibal and Will.

There's a moment’s pause, then Zeller announces, smug, “See, told y…” before he's interrupted by a moan from Will.

“Oh, _god_!”

Then Hannibal has him crowded against a set of drawers with a crash, kissing him with what is clearly a very enthusiastic tongue, as Will wraps his legs around Hannibal’s torso and lets the doctor hold him up while they grind desperately against each other.

“Hannibal, _Hannibal_ ,” Will groans, “fuck me, god, please.”

“Oh, Will,” Hannibal responds, “mine, you are mine, I will take you however you want, my darling boy.”

Clothes are being shed at an alarming rate and with a total disrespect for Hannibal's tailoring and it is this that causes Price and Zeller to cross the floor, put one arm each under Alana's and lift her, still slack-jawed and staring, from the room.

Unfortunately they don't get her out before the following exchange:

“God, I love you, I've wanted you for so long.”

“And I, dear Will, I've loved you from our first conversations, I… _oh, ohhhhh…_ ”

Then, mercifully, distance swallows the rest.

Eventually, Price and Zeller deem they have reached a safe distance and deposit Alana into a chair.

“What the…?” Zeller exclaims.

Price rounds on him, cuffing the back of his head. “You are nothing short of the world’s biggest idiot, you idiot.”

Alana stares at him, dumbfounded. “You knew!”

Price gives her a guilty look and shrugs, “I didn't _know_ anything. I just… suspected. I mean, you've seen the way they look at each other. Pure unresolved sexual tension.”

“Pretty _resolved_ now, it looks like,” pipes up Zeller, earning another smack from Price.

Alana stares at nothing, trying to imagine Will and Hannibal, how they behave together. “I… oh.” A pause. “God, they're really not subtle at all, are they?”

“Sorry, honey,” Price pats her arm. “If it helps, Brian’s been in love with you since day one and I hear he's not bad in the sack.”

“ _Price_!” Zeller shouts.

“Hush. You caused this mess, you'll take your lumps. Look, Alana, sweetie, those two are gonna be in there for a _while_ and you don't wanna stick around for it.”

“God, the clean up…” Zeller whines.

“Shhh, you. Why don't you go get a drink, call a girlfriend and just get trashed. You're better off without those two and their weird, intense thing anyway.”

Somewhere inside, Alana sees the sense of this statement. There is clearly something very serious going on with Will and Hannibal and she has no wish to be in the middle of it. She just would rather not have the image of them rutting against each other burned to her retinas for all time was all. She runs a hand through her hair and stands to leave.

“Thanks, Jimmy, you're really lovely, you know that?”

After taking a few steps away, she turns back and stands in front of Zeller, who looks like he expects another slap. She places her hand on his chest and says, “Call me, I'll consider it.” The stunned, delighted look on his face proves a very useful boost to her ego. “And, keep a sample of that stuff, just in case.” She grins as his jaw drops and turns to leave as Price hoots in appreciation.

 _He’s pretty cute, after all. Don't see why those two should have_ all _the fun._


	8. Everybody Finds Out aka Alana Bloom (finally) has a (mostly) nice day.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everybody is a cheating horndog and the BAU bathrooms are not the best place for intimate... conversations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, imagine an AU in which Beverly Katz does not discover Hannibal's murder basement (maybe Will sent in Price instead, I dunno) and is therefore still alive. This chapter takes place there.

“Get your hand out from there!”

“You're kidding, right? That's the whole reason we came in here!”

“Oh, really? Because I was under the impression you needed to have a serious talk about ‘important lady things’.”

“That was just to squick Zeller out. And you _know_ I had no intention of just talking about ‘lady things’.”

“ _Beverly_!”

“Yes, my dear Dr Bloom?”

Alana watched her friend – _lover_ – waggle her eyebrows salaciously and sighed. “Ok, but you are well aware that I'm not usually… _quiet_ – stop laughing – so you'd better make it worth my while when we both get suspended.”

Beverly placed a hand – the one that was not currently working its way into Alana’s knickers – over her heart in mock-offence. “That you have even to question my skill in this area has mortally wounded me.” She bit softly at Alana’s bottom lip, drawing a soft moan from the doctor, and then pulled back, smirking. “Lucky I'm a fast healer.”

And then they were kissing in earnest, deep and slow and good, as Alana felt Beverley touch a warm finger to her clit, provoking a burst of pleasure.

Alana still wasn't sure how they'd ended up here. She'd been aware of Beverly’s sex appeal for years, the leather jackets and direct wit pushing several of Alana's favourite buttons. She'd caught the other woman’s dark eyes twinkling at her in the halls of the F.B.I. often enough to know that they'd always been on the cusp of… _maybe_. So it hadn't been a surprise, just a very pleasant progression, when a beer after a long day of battling Jack Crawford’s granite opinions turned into full flirtation. Then a kiss, soft and questioning. And another, during which Beverly’s tongue had caused Alana’s mind to flood with images of what else she could do with it. And then, just two days later – when the curiosity had got too much to handle and Alana had turned up, unannounced, at Beverly's apartment – utterly _fantastic_ sex. Which had continued, at regular intervals, over the subsequent two weeks.

The problem was that Alana had also had another longstanding _maybe_ , in the form of her former mentor Hannibal Lecter, a maybe who had turned into a definitely well before Beverly had. Alana wasn't sure what it meant that she'd suddenly thrown caution to the wind for two people she'd always consciously held back from. Nor that she'd become, for the first time in her life, a cheat.

She suspected it might have something to do with the imprisonment and release of Will Graham, once another _maybe_ , now a _lost for good_. She was carefully holding back from considering that, too.

Alana had always thought that, if and when she decided to sleep with Hannibal, it would lead to something important. A relationship, for sure, with the possibility for long-term commitment. He was, after all, ludicrously eligible, attractive and genuinely her friend. He brewed his own beer for her, for crying out loud. So, it came as something of a surprise that, when she got past the incredible sex and the fondness she had always retained for him, Alana found she didn't feel _that thing_ , that spark when she was with him.

And a downright shock that she felt it with Beverly.

“Alana, god, I wanna take you back to your office, spread you over your desk and make you come ‘til you forget how to want anything else.”

_Yes, please._

Beverly was past definition. And Alana was past the ability to control herself in her presence.

Especially when Bev was exposing Alana’s breast and sucking a nipple into her smiling mouth, while touching her right… _there_.

“Oh, god!”

“Yep, still not quiet.”

Because, Alana mused, as cogently as she could at that moment, someone who can simultaneously make you laugh and moan in ecstasy, is not someone you just fuck in the bathroom stalls between crime scenes. Frankly, that might be someone you marry.

She was just wondering whether it would be best to have The Talk with Hannibal or Beverly first, when the sound of the bathroom door opening caused both women to freeze. Alana slapped her hand over her mouth to silence herself, while shooting Bev a glare that she hoped effectively conveyed the accusation, _You told me no one even knows this bathroom existed!_

Beverly shrugged, without a hint of genuine apology and gave Alana a truly wicked grin before continuing what she'd started. Alana clenched her thighs in protest. Beverly just gave her a look that said, _Please, like that's gonna stop me_ and Alana felt herself moan, hoping her hand had worked to muffle it.

“Did you hear something?”

 _Guess not_ , Alana thought, tensing for discovery, as footsteps began to move along the room, checking each stall. Then she realised, as she saw Beverly’s eyebrows raise, that she recognised that voice as belonging to Will Graham.

Before he could make it to the end stall, where Beverly and Alana were entwined, another familiar voice rang out, “I heard nothing. Please, Will, stop looking for distractions and talk to me.” Hannibal sounded as though he was pleading.

Behind the cubicle door, the two women shared a look, equally guilty and intrigued. Beverly finally disengaged her hand, seemingly recognising that her teasing had just stopped being fun.

“Talk to you? As in, have a _conversation_ with you?” Will sounded bitter, the strange calm he had elected to assume around Hannibal apparently destroyed. “Because that's got me in trouble before, you know.”

“Will, I appreciate your anger.”

“Oh, I know you do.”

“But it is unproductive in this case. We must discuss what is happening between us, so that we might restore balance.” Footsteps rang out, Hannibal apparently moving closer to Will.

“ _Restore_ balance?” Will was incredulous. “We've never come close to _achieving_ balance, you made sure of that.”

Someone sighed and Hannibal conceded, “You are right to say so. I am sorry, I wish to make amends. I wish to earn your forgiveness, your trust, the right to your company.” More footsteps.

“And you think last night was the way to do that?” Alana could hear the resentment ebbing from Will's voice, replaced by its own note of pleading. _What on earth happened last night?_

“I think last night can be seen as evidence that you may be capable of granting me those things, in time. And was, incidentally, a night I would never regret, nor choose to alter.” From their voices, it seemed the two men were now standing close together.

There was silence for a long while, then Will said, his voice now soft, “No, me either.” Then silence again, until Alana heard Hannibal moan, “Oh, Will,” and knew they had been kissing.

At which Alana forgot she was currently in an adulterous clinch of her own and made to exit the stall. Beverly tried manfully to hold her back but quickly found that Dr Bloom in a rage was a force to be reckoned with. Alana slammed back the cubicle door and strode out to the sight of her boyfriend and the man who had accused him of being a killer – who had sent someone to kill _Hannibal_ in supposed retribution – holding each other in an embrace.

“Just what the hell is going on?” she demanded.

“Alana… I… I…” Hannibal looked shocked, dropping his arms from around Will’s waist. Alana noted, with some satisfaction, that it was the first time she'd ever seen that expression on his face.

Will, however, who had discreetly removed his hands from Hannibal’s ass, hadn't needed his empathy to read Alana's flushed cheeks, mussed hair and swollen lips. He was, therefore, looking past her at the wide-open stall, then back to ask, “Hate to be cliché, but we could ask you the same thing.”

Alana turned to see a sheepish and equally undone Beverly moving towards her. She turned back, grateful for the support as Bev stood close behind her. Standing her ground, she fixed the two men with a look. “Are you sleeping together?” she asked.

“Again, same ques…” Will began but Hannibal interrupted him.

“I believe there is little point in prevarication in this situation, Will,” he said.

“When did you become such a fan of speaking the truth?” Will asked, then sighed. “Ok, fair enough.” He looked over at Alana. “Not until last night. And you?”

She knew he knew already. “Longer,” she admitted. She noticed Hannibal looked entirely unsurprised by this. “Did you know?” she asked, feeling a mixture of guilt and disbelief.

“I was aware you had taken another lover, yes. And that it was likely a woman, judging by the scent.”

“You know people hate when you do that thing with the scenting, right?” Will told him, earning a glare from both Alana and Hannibal.

“And, what?” Alana asked, knowing it was irrational and hypocritical but feeling no urge to control herself. “You just didn't care, huh? I mean so little to you?”

“On the contrary, Alana, I care for you deeply, and always have. The fact that we were sleeping together did nothing to alter that. I was aware that you were not in love with me, as I am not with you, and did not, therefore, begrudge you seeking company elsewhere. Not least because you have been uncommonly happy since you began your new relationship. Given that it is with Ms Katz, I must say I understand.”

Beverly beamed.

“Plus,” Alana noted, not quite ready to give up the fight, “I was just a distraction, not the ultimate prize.”

“Not that, my dear Alana, never _just_ anything. But yes, Will is and has long been, the object of my affection.”

“You got a strange way of showing it, doc,” Will muttered but the look in his eyes held mostly amusement and he moved into Hannibal's side, accepting an arm around him.

“You know,” Beverly said, “it occurs to me that we are in the fortunate position of everybody getting just what they want here. Unless,” she turned Alana's face to hers gently, “I'm reading this situation very wrong.”

Alana gave a soft smile and shook her head.

“I think you may be onto something there, Katz,” Will said and the two exchanged a grin, “but please, do show your working.”

“Yes, professor. So, on one side of this equation, she's crazy for me and I'm nutso for her. On the other side, well, I always figured nobody looks at each other that way without some _serious_ UST in progress.”

“UST?” asked Hannibal, bemused.

“Unresolved sexual tension. Although now it's RST, I guess. _Resolved_ sexual tension,” she added, off their looks.

“Ah,” Hannibal responded, watching Will blush, “thank you Agent Katz. Quite astute of you.”

“So, what?” Alana asked, attempting to maintain an air of annoyance and failing miserably. “We just walk out of this bathroom, un- and re-coupled, and go on about our days?”

“Our lives, I rather hoped,” Hannibal said, smiling when Will bumped their hips together.

“Do you _really_ have an issue with that, doctor?” Beverly asked, only a touch of nerves in her voice.

Alana thought about it.

“Nope,” she replied, “issue free.”

“Nothing for us to feel horrible about,” Hannibal interjected, causing Will to bark out a laugh.

“What's funny?” Beverly asked but the two men just shook their heads and grinned at each other. Hannibal looked positively smug. “Ok, boys,” she continued, “time to find your own secret hidey-hole.”

“Why use the ladies’, anyway?” Alana pondered.

“Jack's in the men’s room screaming at some poor intern,” Will supplied.

“Typical,” Beverly grinned. “Off you go then.”

Alana watched as the two men, Hannibal's arm still wrapped around Will's shoulder, walked in the direction of the door. She noted the way Will leaned into Hannibal's body and how Hannibal couldn't stop gazing at him, and wondered how the hell their relationship had changed so much. And then breathed a sigh of relief she hadn't known she'd been holding, since it wasn't her job to worry about that anymore.

“Aw, sweet, aren't they?” Beverly cooed.

“In an intense, eccentric, obsessive sort of way, yes.” Alana turned to her girlfriend and looped her arms around her neck. “Now take me back in that stall and finish what you started. I'm not done with you, Agent Katz, not by a long way.”

“Yes ma'am,” Beverly saluted and then kissed her.

Alana considered it, in the end, a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like Margot and I think she makes sense with the post-defenestration, steel-spined Alana. But the soft, kind, beer-swilling Alana of the first two seasons? I like to think she and Katz would've been great together. Yay Bevlana (still can't convince anybody on BloomKatz, huh?).
> 
> Also, consider this chapter a small apology for what I've done to poor Dr Bloom in the previous chapters. And will continue to do in the ones that follow. *insert evil laugh here*


	9. Freddie Finds Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Freddie Lounds lands an exclusive...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was working on drafting this story the other night and, when it was finished, it just didn't sit right with me. The tone of this series is meant to be fairly cracky and fluffy but this one came out just… sad. I couldn't figure out the problem until I realised that setting this when Alana and Hannibal are involved in s2 means that Will is in cahoots with Jack. Which means that Will's feelings towards Hannibal would be all weird and twisty and uncertain. Y’know, like in the show. Which does not really fit with the ridiculous, tropey, Hannigram thing I'm doing here. So, long story short, I've decided that everything is still pretty much canon but Will doesn't get Jack involved and there's no plan to deceive Hannibal. Any Hannigram seduction in these fics is totally genuine on both sides. There will be no Mizumono-ing here. I'm going to put a note at the start of the work to indicate this slight AU but I thought you'd all be terribly fascinated to know how much of an over-analytical weirdo I am. You're welcome!

Alana Bloom was fit to kill.

She had begun the day in a great mood, feeling well rested and optimistic about the article she had finished the night before. Even having woken up without Hannibal in her bed – _stay home or I'll never get this work finished_ , she'd told him – she was feeling good right down in her bones.

It lasted for about thirty-seven minutes.

_Freddie_ fucking _Lounds_.

Alana had taken to checking the horrifying Tattlecrime website over morning coffee after Will Graham’s incarceration. She loathed walking into her office or the FBI only to be blindsided by Lounds’ latest exclusive. Unfortunately, the only way to avoid it was to pre-empt it by adding to the hateful woman's hit count. Since her obsession only seemed to escalate with Will’s release, Alana now found herself checking the site several times a day, irritated with herself every time she did it.

So she wasn't surprised to see Will's name, once again plastered all over the home page.

The headline, however, did give her a moment’s pause.

**PLAYING DOCTORS AND NURSES? Hannibal Lecter spends the night with recently released patient Will Graham – does sex with your therapist improve mental health?**

Below it were two pictures, clearly taken from the bushes opposite Hannibal’s house in the early hours of the morning. The first depicted Will just stepping off Hannibal’s front step, while Hannibal stood in the doorway, still dressed in pyjamas and robe. Their arms were outstretched towards each other, suggesting, if one were inclined to believe it – _of course Freddie would be_ – that they had just been holding hands. There was even a red circle around their hands, just to direct the reader’s opinion in that way.

The second picture showed Will, turned towards the camera to open his car, with what Alana could only interpret as a disbelieving, slightly dazed grin on his face. Behind, now on the front step himself, Hannibal was watching Will with an expression of contentment. He looked like someone had just given him the best gift in the world.

Alana had to admit, she could almost understand how that expression could be misinterpreted.

But Alana knew Hannibal was often more expressive in his affection towards Will. He was working hard to re-establish their friendship – despite her misgivings – and Will had in the past responded well to Hannibal's directness with him. This picture just seemed to prove his work was paying off. They'd probably had dinner and Will, maybe the worse for wear from drinking, had spent the night in a guest room.

It certainly didn't mean what Freddie Lounds was suggesting.

Alana’s first stop that morning was scheduled to be at the BAU for a consultation with Jack Crawford. She was suddenly really not looking forward to it.

***

_Should have known. I just should have known it._

Alana had managed to make it through the car park and into the lobby of the BAU without catching any sympathetic looks or intrusive questions. Probably, she figured, because most people still thought she and Hannibal were just friends and colleagues.

_Thank god for old-fashioned discretion._

She knew it wouldn't last forever but she thought if she could get to Jack's office without bumping into anybody, she might be able to hide in there for most of the day. Jack might be aware of the change in her relationship with Hannibal but he wouldn't pry – he was only unflinchingly insensitive when it came to his cases – and he'd probably be more sympathetic as a result.

The flash of faux fur and red corkscrews put paid to this happy notion.

“Dr Bloom!” Freddie scurried in front of Alana, effectively blocking her way. “Any comment on today's story about your boyfriend? Or is that _ex_ -boyfriend now? So sorry, by the way.”

Alana crushed the urge to grab the woman by her hair, rejecting it as far too high school a move. Instead, she crowded against her, manoeuvring them both into a corridor and away from the open lobby.

“I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of asking how you know such personal information about me. I'm just going to tell you that you have shown yourself as being even more desperate and pathetic than anybody realised to fabricate that story out of thin air. No _actual_ stories to write, Freddie? Burned all your contacts in law enforcement? Or have you run out of gullible idiots to seduce for information?”

“Aw, I think Brian Zeller likes you, too.” Alana glared at her and turned on her heel.

“Bye, Freddie. I'd get out of here before Jack Crawford sees you. I hear he loves to eviscerate reporters of a morning.”

“Not exactly out of thin air, Dr Bloom,” Freddie called after her.

“Yeah, I saw the photos. Pretty weak stuff, Freddie, not up to your usual standards.”

“There’s a reason for that,” Freddie said, approaching carefully. “Look, Alana,” she began. Alana shot her a look that should have turned red hair white. “Ok, Dr Bloom… I like you. You seem kind, smart, an actual honest-to-god decent person. So, I kept _these_ ,” Freddie brought her camera, set to display something from its memory, to meet Alana's eyes, “off the site. _Not_ ,” she added, “for their sake.”

Alana tried to keep her eyes from widening but couldn't stop the soft gasp that escaped her. On the camera’s mercilessly large, high-definition display was another image from Hannibal's front step. In it, Hannibal was pressed up against his doorframe, with Will wrapped around him. They were engaged in a deep kiss, mouths open, and Hannibal’s hands were resting on Will's ass.

No... were very definitely _squeezing_ Will's ass.

Alana felt sick.

She clicked back through the images, watching in reverse as Will pushed Hannibal against the door and then disappeared back into the house, hands very clearly entwined. There were also photos, apparently from the night before, of the reception area of Hannibal's office. Taken through a window, they showed the two men, locked together again, Will's legs around Hannibal's waist as they kissed.

Any room for _misinterpretation_ was long gone.

Freddie sighed dramatically. “Such a shame I'm a slave to my better angels. Those pictures would have tripled my hit count. I mean,” she shot Alana a sly look, “ _you_ know, they might be a pair of weirdos but they're also undeniably hot. And slash, into the bargain?” She sighed again. “My moral compass will be the ruin of me.”

Alana was contemplating exactly which part of Freddie Lounds’ anatomy she was going to smash with her own camera – _her nose would probably shatter beautifully_ – when she was interrupted. By a voice that, if it usually rattled windowpanes, had now developed the kind of force that uprooted trees and destroyed buildings.

“FREDDIE. LOUNDS.” Jack bellowed the name in two distinct sentences.

The redhead raised her eyebrows at Alana, looking nothing so much as amused at the outburst, and turned towards the oncoming man, matador meeting bull.

Jack was definitely seeing red.

“Is there a problem, officer? I mean, _agent_?” Freddie Lounds would have flirted with Lucifer if she thought it would get her out of a jam. _Actually, scratch that,_ Alana thought, _Lucifer’s probably just her type_.

Jack glared down at the reporter, seething. For a moment Alana thought he might hijack her plan with the camera but then he turned, folded Freddie’s arm under his own and told her, in a deceptively pleasant tone, “Ms Lounds, you will now allow me to escort you to my office and we're going to have a little chat about _boundaries_. Alana,” he added, looking to her apologetically as Freddie tugged unsuccessfully at his grip, “I'm so sorry you had to deal with _this_ ,” he nodded at Freddie. “I might advise getting out of here for a while, though. People just can't help themselves.” He glared at a pair of technicians who ran past, sneaking curious glances at the scene. “And keep running!” he shouted after them.

Alana considered the sense of this advice but she was having a great deal of vindictive fun watching Freddie suffer and decided keeping them company would be a better use of her time. “Actually, Jack, I'd like to come with you, if you don't mind. I've always enjoyed chatting with Freddie myself.”

“Ah,” Jack looked doubtful but quickly relented, “ok, if you'd like to. Will and Dr Lecter are already there.”

“Oh, really?” Alana felt the slow smile cross her face. “That'll just make our conversation all the more interesting, then.”

Freddie suddenly looked very keen to reach Jack’s office.

***

“Alana! What are you doing here?” Hannibal looked surprised as Alana filed in behind Jack and Freddie.

Will looked nothing but guilty and tried to put some distance between his body and Hannibal’s. They were perching on a set of drawers, sitting _very_ close. Alana wasn't sure but she thought she'd seen Hannibal discreetly remove his hand from Will’s thigh. From very high on Will’s thigh. At Freddie’s gleeful look towards her, she knew she'd been right.

Alana had never thought blood could literally boil in your veins. Evidently, she was wrong.

“I came to watch the show,” she told them. It was the truth, she just wasn't sure all the players knew they were participating.

“Sit, Ms Lounds,” Jack commanded and the reporter acquiesced, her gaze flitting from one face to another in anticipation. “And take that look off your face, this is not an opportunity for you to play.”

“My apologies, Agent Crawford, there are just so many interesting dynamics in this one little room, I can't help but get a little excited,” Freddie cooed.

“Be. Quiet. Ms Lounds. Now, you are going to post and print a retraction of that ludicrous story you concocted. And you are going to stop harassing my people, or I'll have you banned from every crime scene, every courthouse, every federal building in the country. Is that clear?”

“I'm pretty certain even you can't make that stick, Agent Crawford,” Freddie replied, utterly composed. “You never have before.” Jack scowled at her.

It was almost admirable, Alana thought, how brazenly tough Freddie was. Alana knew well you didn't get anywhere in her profession – _or mine_ – without a thick skin and rock-hard confidence.

“In any case,” Freddie continued, “I haven't said anything _outright_ untrue. They did spend last night in each other's, no doubt delightful, company.” Alana enjoyed how this statement made the two men squirm. “And they are so intriguingly… _close_ , for two men who swapped accusations of murder.”

“None of which had any basis in reality and all of which have been quashed,” Jack reminded her.

“Will and I have had our differences, it is true, Ms Lounds,” Hannibal interjected. “However, we have been able, after some effort, to reclaim our friendship.”

_Oh, just haven't you._

“I do not see,” Hannibal continued, “how there is anything salacious in that. And I would have thought even you, Ms Lounds, would not be so cruel as to warp said friendship for such a meagre headline. We could sue, you know. I have an excellent lawyer.” Will shot him a sideways glance at that and Alana knew what he was thinking.

_You know she's got other pictures, why are you provoking her?_

Alana had thought the same, wondering where Hannibal's near-mythical self-control had gone in all of this.

_Maybe Will just has that effect on him, she considered, bitterly._

Which thought was probably why Alana found herself becoming Freddie Lounds’ knight in shining armour.

“Why don't you show them exactly why legal action would be a very bad idea, Freddie?” she suggested, looking from Will to Hannibal. Both men turned pale.

“Why Dr Bloom,” Freddie turned to face her, “only with your express permission.”

Alana eyed Will and Hannibal, who had clearly both just realised Alana had seen exactly what Freddie hadn't posted. Hannibal cast his eyes aside, unwilling to meet her gaze. Will, though, for once met her look full-on and Alana didn't need his empathy to know he was trying to silently communicate the words _I'm so, so sorry._

“Would someone like to inform me just what the hell is going on?” Jack demanded.

“Do it,” Alana told Freddie, who merely held out her camera to Jack, with a demure smile. Alana watched, as Jack’s eyes widened and a look of disbelief crossed his face. At one point he turned in his chair to look Hannibal and Will up and down, turning back with an expression pitched somewhere between disbelief and amusement. Then he seemed to remember Alana was in the room, his eyes flicking towards her, and he schooled his expression back to irritation.

Alana imagined he had just reached the shot of Will literally throwing himself at Hannibal, or possibly the subsequent one, of Hannibal lifting Will up and pushing him back against the nearest wall.

Once he had finished scrolling, Jack set the camera down, sighed and glared at Freddie. “With the exception of Dr Bloom, you are all a bunch of overexcitable children who need to be given a serious timeout. Since only one of you is my employee, I can't do that, so instead I'm going to ask every one of you damn fools to get the hell. OUT OF. MY. OFFICE.”

Alana suspected Jack had needed that bellow very much.

“And Ms Lounds?” Jack added.

“Yes, Agent Crawford?”

“I'm keeping your memory card.” He had already ejected it and, keeping eye contact with her, crushed it to smithereens under a heavy glass.

Freddie shrugged. “Shame. There were a few on there I was eager to add to my personal collection.” She winked at Will, who looked horrified. Freddie was unaffected to such a degree that Alana knew she must have already backed up her booty. Likely Jack knew it too, but smashing the card must have felt almost as good as smashing Lounds’ nose would've.

The reporter rose from her chair, collected her camera and treated them all to a wicked smile. “Lovely to see you all, as ever. Do try not to behave yourself any time soon, gentlemen. I have readers to service.” Then she spun and marched from Jack’s office. Alana suspected that, were it not for her stilettos and general… _Freddie-ness_ , she would have been skipping.

Alana moved to leave too, Jack throwing her a sympathetic look as she went. Behind her, she heard Will call her name and curiosity got the best of her progress.

This’ll be _interesting_.

Will came to stand in front of her, Hannibal close behind. They weren't touching, she noticed and supposed it was for her benefit.

“I'm sorry,” he started, “ _we're_ sorry.” Hannibal looked sombre but stoic. “It hasn't been going on long, we just…”

“That's a fucking lie, Will,” Alana snapped.

“Wh… no, Alana…” Will looked lost.

“It's been going on pretty much since you two first met, you and I were just too dumb to see it. _He_ wasn't, though,” she spat, looking at Hannibal.

“Alana, _seriously_ …” Will pled.

“I think Alana is referring less to our physical affair and more to our emotional connection,” Hannibal explained. Will opened his mouth to object, then closed it again, defeated. “And I think in this, Alana, you must take the vast majority of your rage out on me, not Will.”

_No argument here._

“While I have indeed been captivated by him since early in our acquaintance, Will's feelings towards me have always been rather more complex and difficult to define.”

“Until recently,” Alana sneered.

“Indeed. And while I'm certain Will will take more than his fair share of guilt in this, it was I who was engaged in a relationship at the time and I who should bear the brunt of responsibility.”

“Why sleep with me at all?” she asked. “We’ve known each other years without going there.”

“You were a comfort when I thought I had lost forever the thing I love most in the world. And it is my great regret that I had not the strength to resist its lure when it returned to me.”

“So… you love him?”

“Yes. For some time now.”

Alana looked at Will, who was trying to keep the smile off his face. “And you?”

“Yes.” The smile had won. “Also for some time. Alana, I know it's weird and it makes no sense and…”

“Stop,” Alana interrupted. “The truth is, I always thought if the pair of you were so inclined you'd have been made for each other. Apparently I forgot all those classes I took on fluid sexuality. I'm not forgiving you but I can't see what I get from standing in your way. Just… invite me for a really good dinner in about a month. Maybe two. And I mean _really good_ , Hannibal. Use all your special tricks.”

Will looked somewhat doubtful at this but Hannibal covered, saying, “Of course, Alana, the very least I could do.” Will shot him a look but held his tongue and took Hannibal’s hand in his own.

“We’ll leave you in peace, Alana. Thank you for… well, for being you,” Will said with a sheepish grin. They left her in the hallway, Alana noting the way the tension seemed to fall from Will’s shoulders, possibly for the first time since she'd met him.

“Well, that was intense,” Freddie said, emerging from around a corner. “Makes you wonder what the pillow talk’s like. They make quite the fascinating pair, don't they?”

Alana sighed. “They’re both strange, high-maintenance and maddening to know. And perfect for each other.”

Freddie grinned. “Can I quote you on that?”

Alana met her eyes. “Freddie, can I see your camera for a moment?”


	10. Will's Dogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alana realises Hannibal has taken over dog duty and certain other roles which can only be described as… boyfriendly.

Alana wasn't naturally a suspicious person but she had to admit, after a good two minutes of staring at Hannibal's Bentley in puzzlement, there seemed no good explanation for its owner being in Wolf Trap. Even given Hannibal's attempts to re-establish his friendship with Will, he certainly had no reason for a visit since Will was on a case with Jack Crawford, stuck overnight at a particularly trying crime scene.

From off in the distance she heard barking and turned, hoping the dogs hadn't escaped and run off. Then she watched, feeling slightly dazed, as Hannibal emerged from the woods, preceded by all seven of Will’s dogs. Other than a stray twig in his hair, he looked as impeccable as ever and Alana's breath caught a little at the sight of the stupidly attractive man engaged in something so domestic. Reminding herself that it would be entirely inappropriate to make out with Hannibal outside Will’s house, she exited the car and waved to her approaching boyfriend.

If Alana had been puzzled by Hannibal's presence at Will's home, Hannibal looked downright shocked to see Alana there. She grinned at his confusion and waved a hand towards the dogs milling around her feet. “I guess you heard about the delay over in Washington too, then?”

Hannibal seemed to take a moment to process this, then said, “Delay… Indeed, yes, I did. How did you find out?”

“Oh, Jack called to reschedule a meeting we had planned for tomorrow and mentioned Will was with him. Things between Will and me are a bit strained but I thought I might be the only one who would think to check on his dogs overnight. I guess I needn't have worried. Never took you for the dog-sitting type,” she added, teasing gently, lifting up on her toes for a kiss and pulling the twig from his hair.

Hannibal reciprocated, though only barely, pulling back to say, “I thought perhaps Will would not feel comfortable asking for your help. As you say, your friendship is not so strong as it once was. As I had some spare time, I thought I would alleviate his need and your concern.”

“No patients this evening?”

“A fortuitously clear schedule. I had intended some paperwork but decided meeting the needs of my friends was more important. And now I find myself with unexpected but delightful company. Simply allow me to deposit the dogs safely indoors and then I would very much like to take you for dinner.”

“That sounds wonderful. I'll help you get them in.”

“No, no, not at all.” Hannibal rushed to put her off. “I would not want your outfit covered in dog hair.”

“Hannibal,” Alana rolled her eyes, “you're the one who worries about such things. I live with a dog, remember?”

“Yes... but… I really think…”

“Ssh. I'm better with them anyway. Let me just get the door.” She jogged up the steps, Hannibal still protesting, and threw the door open, to be greeted with the smell of cooking. From the mouthwatering smell, she doubted it was something Will had left to keep warm. Not that Will would do that anyway.

She turned, confusion and amusement mingling in her smile. “Hannibal, have you been cooking for Will?”

She had never seen Hannibal – Dr Hannibal Lecter, her vaunted mentor – look _sheepish_ before.

“Will is still not in the habit of feeding himself properly. I wished for him to come home to a decent meal.”

As the dogs finally noticed their home was open and surged past Alana, she walked with them into the house and across to the kitchen. Taking a dishcloth, she lifted the lid of the simmering pot and concluded, “Boeuf bourguignon. This takes hours to prepare, Hannibal. Just how long have you been here?”

“A few hours, only. I…”

“Jack only called me a couple of hours ago, Hannibal. How did you know Will wouldn't be coming home in enough time to do this?” Alana was beginning to feel her stomach twist. Hannibal could seemingly only gape at her in response. “And Will would never have the ingredients for this ready to go. You…” She spotted the brown bags on the counter, neatly folded and stacked. “You went grocery shopping for him?”

Something clicked and Alana looked over to Will’s small dining (cum-boat-engine-repair) table. It was set with a fine linen tablecloth and two candles. In candlesticks she recognised from Hannibal's house.

“You walked his dogs, stocked his fridge, cooked him dinner and you did… that,” Alana said, gesticulating at the table. “This isn't just what a friend does, is it? Hannibal,” she looked up at him with furious incredulity, “are you Will Graham’s boyfriend?”

She stared at Hannibal as his mouth worked, then they both jumped as a new voice interjected, “Actually, I'd like an answer to that too.” Will tilted his head, leaning against his front doorframe. “Just exactly which one of us is your bit on the side? Hello, Alana,” he added, “I'm truly sorry about this.”

Hannibal was first to recover. “Hello, Will. I thought you were not expected home until later.”

“It seems pretty clear I wasn't. I convinced Jack I wouldn't be of any further use and got straight out of there. You didn't get my text, then?”

“Text?” Hannibal asked weakly, fishing out his phone. “Ah. No. Your dogs are rather distracting.”

Will’s expression softened as he said, “Did you walk my dogs for me?”

“I did. It is, I believe, what boyfriends do.”

_That answers that, then._

“You don't even have the decency to break up with me first?” Alana growled into the suddenly-charged silence, seemingly reminding both men of her existence. She looked from Hannibal across to Will, who had stepped forward into the room. “Did your oh-so-special empathy not extend to how much this would hurt me?”

Will winced and looked at the floor. “Yes,” he muttered, “just not enough to stop.”

“Alana,” Hannibal's voice cut through the air, calm but carrying a note of warning, “it is I who has committed the sin here. Will is not blameless but I am the cheat. You would do better to take out your wrath on me.”

Alana pinned him with an icy expression. “Oh, I will. Wonder how long your medical licence will stand when I report that you’ve been fucking your patient?”

“Alana, that’s not…” Will began but she quickly cut him off.

“Shut up. Don’t speak. We’re done.” She turned to go, knowing if she stayed she would inflict violence on one or both men. In doing so, however, her gaze alighted on Will’s bed and she froze.

“Are those… rose petals?” There was a delicate spray of red covering the sheets.

Behind her, Hannibal cleared his throat and explained, “Tonight was to be… special. We have not yet…”

“Oh god,” Alana groaned. She sped past the two men, trying and failing not to notice the utterly besotted look they were sharing. Reaching the door, she turned to make some cutting remark but it died on her lips as she saw Will claim Hannibal's mouth with a kiss. Instead, spotting a rubber bone on the floor, she picked it up and threw it at Hannibal's head, enjoying the squeak as it hit home and hoping it was covered in dog drool.

“You know,” she told Will, hating how bitter she sounded, “relationships that start as adultery never last.”

Will had the grace to look shamefaced at that but Hannibal cupped his face in his hand and, ignoring Alana, told him, “This one certainly will.”

Alana just stared and then left them to it, praying for a lightning strike, double spontaneous combustion or a very localised outburst of the plague.

_Or one of those creative serial killers they're both so fascinated with._

_Hell, I'd even help him display their bodies._


	11. Zombies!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alana faces the possible end of the world... and some other unfortunate revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains references to some major character deaths (offscreen and not Alana, Will or Hannibal).
> 
> This one's for needcoffeetofunction - get well soon, hon!

“…the attackers can be stopped by removing the head or destroying the brain.”

Alana stood watching the television she hadn't even known Hannibal owned, transfixed by the impossibility of what she was seeing. On the screen, a news anchor, sweating through his shirt and a face-full of makeup, was giving details of what no one could any longer deny was the rise of the undead.

“Alana,” Hannibal had appeared behind her silently, his hand on her arm causing her to jump, “I think it is time to go.”

She turned to face him and froze. The man in front of her looked very much like Hannibal Lecter, except he was dressed in jeans, heavy boots and a leather jacket and appeared to have strapped the katana from his bedroom to his back.

“Hannibal, what…”

“The transport is outside, Alana, it is time for you to go.”

She looked up from his unfamiliar ensemble, taking in the firm set of his mouth, the sad look in his eyes. “Why aren't you coming?”

“I have a friend out there who requires my help.”

Alana didn't have to wonder. “You're going to find Will. Even after what he did, what he accused you of?”

Hannibal nodded. “You know as well as I that Will is not guilty.”

In the face of the zombie apocalypse, Alana found it all too easy to accept the truth of this, as well as something else she now knew should have been obvious. “You're in love with him.”

“Yes. I'm sorry if that upsets you but if there still exists a chance to keep him safe, I must take it.”

Alana considered getting upset for a moment but she had never seen her progression from Hannibal's friend to his lover as anything more than a clutch for comfort by either of them. Not to mention, the presence of the armed transport outside, courtesy of Jack Crawford’s calling in of every favour he'd ever earned, rather shortened the timeframe for confrontations. Instead, she simply wrapped her arms around Hannibal, with the words, “Don't be too reckless. Take care of him.” She drew back and met his eyes, “And be honest with him. No metaphors, no literary allusions, no exquisitely crafted obfuscations. Just tell him. I'm reasonably certain you'll get the response you want.”

Hannibal’s eyes lit at this, in a way she'd never seen before. “You are?”

She shrugged, feeling surprisingly light-hearted in the face of the end of both her relationship and, potentially, the world. “The other reason I told him I couldn't date him? When the pair of you aren't trading elegant couplets on the subject of murder, you're eye-banging like no one else can see you. It's not subtle.”

It was this final sentence that meant, as she took her bags to the door, the last thing Alana saw of her former lover, was the unexpectedly beautiful sight of Hannibal Lecter blushing.

***

_Three years later._

Alana would know those curls anywhere.

She was in Florida, helping a colleague to run a week of counselling sessions for traumatised survivors. Given that mostly everyone still alive in the US qualified as such, these events were always utter chaos, a barely controlled swell of emotion coupled with endless paperwork and administration. The chances that Alana would catch glimpse of a living, breathing Will Graham in any context were, she contemplated, microscopic. That she would, through the packed crowds of the conference centre, simply glance towards the refreshments table to see him struggling one-handed with a coffee pot seemed impossible to the point of absurdity.

And yet.

Alana excused herself from her colleagues and crossed the room, almost in a daze. Just before she could reach him, though, she realised with horror that the reason for Will's struggle was the total absence of his left arm. His shoulder simply ended abruptly in a stump, covered with fabric neatly tailored to his altered form. Alana was used to such injuries – there had been far greater call for medics than psychiatrists during the last few years and Alana had found herself in field hospitals all across the country – but she couldn’t keep the words from leaving her lips.

“Oh, Will.”

He turned, clearly surprised to hear his name, still holding the pot in his remaining hand. She watched his eyes light with recognition as he set down the coffee and pulled her in for an embrace.

“Alana, you’re alive! I wasn’t sure, I… I don’t have the connections I had before.” He pulled back to look at her properly. “You’re ok? You’re safe, happy?”

“All of the above.” She felt a huge grin cross her face, the same reflected a second later on Will’s. It faded after a moment, though, as she glanced at the space where his arm should have been.

Will caught her look and said, “It’s ok, it could’ve been so much worse. _Should have_ been. I got bit,” Alana’s head snapped up and she stared at him. “I know. Thought I was done for sure. It was only because of the guy with me, he took my arm off the second after the thing got hold of me. Kept the infection from spreading. Another second…” he trailed off, eyes clouded for a second, then shrugged. “I figure, an arm’s not that much of a sacrifice. And other than that, I’m a hell of a lot healthier than I was pre-apocalypse.”

Alana took a moment to look him over. Will was right – where she had known a scruffy, twitchy, often sweaty mess of a man who concealed his looks behind stubble and poor eye contact, the man before her now was neat and clean, smartly groomed and dressed in simple but elegant clothes. He also looked healthy, well-fed and clear-skinned, with an ease in his posture that she had never seen before. More than anything, though, he was meeting her eyes without hesitation, the expression in them so warm and genuine she wondered how she had ever thought him capable of violence and murder.

She smiled, feeling a prickle of tears in her eyes and then laughed, blinking them away. “The end of the world clearly agrees with you.” Will barked out a laugh, the same one she remembered, and she reflected gladly that some things remained unchanged. Then, without warning, she blurted, “I'm so sorry I didn't believe you, Will.”

He cast his eyes away for a second but then looked back and shrugged. “It's ok. _I_ wouldn't have believed me. It's forgotten.”

“And… you're a free man? They didn't try to put you back in?”

“They made some perfunctory noises about it but, given my exemplary service to the nation in zombie massacring, as well as the fact that pretty much all the evidence against me was lost one way and another, they didn't pursue it too hard. Apparently the going rate for freedom is a couple hundred undead and my total’s well above that, thus I am a fully certified member of the post-apocalyptic society.” He rolled his eyes. “C’mon, I'm not letting you go anytime soon, Bloom,” Will told her, taking her hand and dragging her to a couch in the corner. They sat and he looked seriously at her. “Do you know what happened to the others? Crawford? Katz and her boys?” Alana noticed that he didn't say anything about Hannibal and realised, the thought sinking like a stone within her, that if Hannibal wasn’t with Will, it was because he had died trying.

The tears returned to Alana’s eyes and Will’s expression dropped. She pulled herself together, took a deep breath and told him. “Zeller died early on. He was out on duty when the bodies at the crime scene…” she sniffled, “he went out fighting but he wouldn’t have had a clue what was going on. He wasn’t turned, they just… destroyed him. Price was distraught, of course, Beverly too. He’s still alive, got a partner and kids, named his son Brian. He says if the kid doesn’t develop a terrible sense of humour and a fascination with dead bodies he won’t have done his job right.” Will grinned weakly, his own eyes sparkling with tears.

Alana clutched tightly at his hand with both of hers. She had hoped never to tell this next part ever again. “Jack… Jack’s dead too. He…” Alana was openly crying now. “He made sure he got everybody to safety that he could. Then he… god, Will, he helped Bella to go. They were found in their bed together, there was a syringe next to her and a bullet in his head. He left a note, said that he was tired of fighting monsters and since Bella couldn’t follow him, he’d follow her.” Will pulled her tight against himself and they sobbed together.

Eventually, they quietened and Will leaned back, saying, “He was a great man. A gigantic, bull-headed bear of a great man. I’m glad they were together at the end.” He squeezed her hand and then a frown crossed his brow. “What about Beverly? Is she…”

“Don’t worry. Not all my stories are sad.” Alana took a deep breath and tried to shake off her grief. “Beverly Katz is alive, a decorated hero of the war on zombies and, other than losing an eye in combat, is both hale and hearty and every bit the snarky, badass bitch she ever was.”

The relief in Will’s eyes was dazzling. “Saved the best for last, huh? I bet she really pulls off the eye patch.”

“I think so,” Alana agreed, “it’s really the main reason I married her.”

Will’s stunned expression was a picture. “What?” he nearly squealed. “You and Katz?”

Alana held up her left hand to show off her wedding ring. “She’s pretty amazing. And stupidly hot when smiting the undead.”

Will grinned and launched himself at her for yet another hug. She felt him chuckle against her and say, “Remember when I kissed you?”

“I faintly recall.”

“Really barking up the wrong tree, huh?”

“My finding you attractive was never the problem, Graham.” She smacked him lightly on the head. “Though I must admit, I like the new look better than the flannel.”

“Ah, yeah, there’s a reason for that.” Will released her and held up his own hand, displaying a gold band. “Snap. Wrong hand, of course, but completely official.”

“You got married? To who? Is she here, can I meet her?”

Will grinned, looking pleased with himself. “I believe my darling spouse should be arriving soon. I’ll give you all the gory details when I can make the introductions.”

“You’d better.” Alana decided she had to ask, before Will’s wife appeared and the chance was lost. “Will, I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this but the last time I saw him, Hannibal was on his way to try to save you from Chilton’s hospital. He… he was in love with you, you know.” Will looked down. “I’m sorry, maybe you didn’t want to know that but… did he ever find you, did you ever see him again?”

From behind her, a familiar voice interjected, “Who else do you know could cut off a man’s arm and then convince him to marry them?”

Will’s grin could’ve lit the city. “Alana, I’d like you to meet my husband, Dr Hannibal Lecter.”

Alana turned to raise her eyes along all six-foot plus of her former mentor, finding herself unable to move. Hannibal seemed relatively unharmed, save for a wicked-looking scar that ran the length of one cheekbone. Seeing her shock, he grinned from ear to ear and Alana realised, as he leaned down for a hug, that she had never seen such an open expression on his face. Indeed, as Hannibal crossed to his husband, stealing a kiss before sitting behind him and pulling Will back against his chest, she realised how little resemblance this relaxed, loose-limbed, contented man bore to the one she had known before.

“She looks a little dazed, don't you think darling?” Will asked teasingly.

“Positively stunned, dearest,” agreed Hannibal.

“So, I was right about the eye-banging,” Alana interjected, not wanting to let them win.

As Hannibal smirked behind him, Will exclaimed, “What the hell does _that_ mean?”

After they'd finished laughing, they exchanged war stories for a couple of hours, Hannibal equally delighted to hear of Alana’s marriage and Alana entirely unsurprised it took less than two weeks after Hannibal had rescued Will from the BSHCI for their first kiss to occur.

Eventually, as the venue began closing for the night, Hannibal said, “Alana, we would love to have you for dinner.” Will seemed to choke a little as Hannibal clarified, “For you to come to our house to eat dinner.”

“You still cook, Hannibal?”

Will snorted. “As if the end of the world could stop him.”

“Yes,” Alana continued, “but you always cooked meat and it's so hard to come by now.”

“In fact, my darling husband has adjusted well to a vegetarian diet,” Will told her. “Claims a couple of years killing zombies kinda did for his bloodlust.” His eyes twinkled as he looked up at Hannibal, whose eyes crinkled in response. Clearly Alana was missing some inside joke but she chose not to pry.

“In any case,” Hannibal added, “cutting off a large part of the man you love,”

“With a katana,” Will added.

“…has the unfortunate side effect of making butchery somewhat less appealing.”

Alana began to laugh at that, with the two men joining soon after and it took a couple of minutes for them to compose themselves. Finally, she regained enough breath to say, “A vegetarian dinner cooked by Hannibal Lecter. I knew there was a reason I survived the zombie apocalypse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for how sad this one was at points. I subscribe to the Joss Whedon theory - your threat can't be credible if it doesn't actually take in some casualties (*pours one out for Wash, Anya, etc.*).
> 
> Also, you should all know something: I hate horror movies (I know, I know, what am I doing in this fandom?). All horror movies. But more than that, I HATE zombies. Number one fear (fictional category). I have never watched an episode of The Walking Dead. I sat through Shaun of the Dead (from which I borrowed the first line of this fic) because of my deep and abiding love of Pegg, Wright and Frost (Spaced lover for life y'all) and had nightmares afterwards. I am a bone-deep, incurable, over-imaginative, total and utter wimp.
> 
> And I still wrote this nonsense. You're welcome.


	12. Sock Garters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hannibal makes a special effort... but for whom?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's for the utterly wonderful, gloriously talented Devereauxs_Disease, whose description of Will's outfit in her fic [Unlawful Arrest](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6626320) led to a discussion of Hannibal in a similar state of undress, which led to this... nonsense. Thank you, my dearest dear, for all your fantastic fics and for supporting this ridiculous series from the start.
> 
> Psst: The gorgeous D_D is working on her own version of Hannibal in this particular get-up. Keep an eye out, it is sure to be legendary.

If there was anyone in the world who could pull off this look, it would be Hannibal Lecter.

_Which means,_ Alana reflected _, there is no one in the world who can pull off this look._

As she felt a grin threaten to sever her head in two, Alana returned her gaze to Hannibal’s face. It was currently doing a rather fine impression of a goldfish, which only caused Alana to laugh harder.

Sounding more than a little put out, Hannibal finally managed to greet her. “Hello, Alana. May I ask what you find so amusing?”

Alana found she could only meet his gaze with incredulous glee. Pulling herself together, she managed to say, “Hannibal. Really? I mean, I appreciate the thought but…” She couldn't stop her eyes from travelling southwards again. She suspected nobody could have. It was a little like trying to back out of a black hole.

For, standing before her, in the centre of his perfectly-ordered office, leaning against his perfectly-ordered desk, was the perfectly-ordered, renowned and respected Hannibal Lecter, clad in a paisley tie the colour of sunset, accented with cornflower, mint and gold, socks in a blue so deep it was almost black… and nothing else.

Except a rather wounded expression.

And some navy, leather-edged sock garters.

In rather less unexpected circumstances, Alana had mused on how these most unsexy of accessories (of which, of course, he owned a wide selection) somehow only accentuated the fine musculature of Hannibal's calves. Perhaps he had previously noted her gaze catching as he disrobed. That might explain… Working her gaze back up the sculpted planes of golden-toned flesh before her, she began to re-assess her previous opinion of her lover’s appearance. After all, the way the silk draped across his torso was rather intriguing.

Alana decided she could still rescue the situation to her own advantage.

“I'm so sorry I just barged in and ruined it,” she said, soft and beseeching. “I didn't even…” She trailed off, mind finally recovering enough from the vision before her to think coherently. “Wait, you didn't know I was coming.” She met his suddenly wary glance and cocked her head, “Hannibal, why…”

A voice, calling from the waiting room, interrupted them. “Hello, Hannibal, are you here?”

They turned to see Will walk into the room, blanch, and burst out laughing.

“Hannibal… what…” Will could only gasp words between giggles, nearly collapsing as his eyes reached the psychiatrist’s feet. “Why do your socks have little suspenders?” he squeaked.

Hannibal pouted and, with a defiant lift of his chin, said, “I wanted to surprise you. I thought you might find this appealing.”

“Hannibal, I already told you,” Alana began, before realising that not only had Will stopped laughing, but Hannibal’s words weren't directed to her.

Will, suddenly very serious, said evasively, “What? Hannibal, I, um… why would I?” He looked at Alana and laughed weakly, attempting to convey a  _he’s obviously lost it_ expression. “Clearly, _I_ don't care if…”

Alana wasn't buying it.

She looked from Will to Hannibal, the former floundering, the latter smug, if still smarting. Clearly, only one of them knew there had been a plan for tonight.

“Hannibal, were you trying to seduce Will?”

At the tiny hitch in Hannibal's lips, Alana was seriously tempted to rush over and start hitting him, when Will cleared his throat. “Um, _technically_ , that ship might've sailed.”

Alana turned in place and, with narrowed eyes, repeated, “ _Might've_?”

Will winced and continued, “Absolutely, definitively, unmistakably, has raised anchor.” She noticed his eyes flit to the naked man behind her.

_Raised other things too, clearly._

Alana crossed her arms and took a step closer to Will. “Since when?”

“About ten minutes after I resumed therapy.”

“Oh. Was he naked when you turned up then, too?”

“Actually, no,” Hannibal supplied, having apparently regained his equanimity, “though Will was kind enough to dress very nicely for our session.”

Will blushed.

“And so you felt the sudden need to strip him?”

“Not sudden, no.”

The blushing continued. Alana turned away from it, back to Hannibal.

“And you would have informed me… when?”

“You remember that we have dinner reservations for tomorrow?”

“Oh God, _seriously_ Hannibal? That's my favourite restaurant.”

“I thought you should at least enjoy your meal.”

“How very _fucking_ considerate.”

“Hey, language!”

It took Alana a moment to realise that the admonishment had come from Will. She turned from the disgustingly proud expression on Hannibal's face, to the mildly confused one on Will’s.

“ _Seriously_?”

Will gaped at her, then stammered, “It… I… It's his influence!” He pointed at Hannibal. “He gets inside your brain, you know.”

“Not the only part of you he's been inside.”

Will just stared. Clearly, he couldn't deny it. Nor could he stop the tiny grin that appeared when Hannibal gave a little satisfied hum at her comment. “Sorry… sorry,” he muttered, hiding his mouth with his hand.

“God, you’re both just totally smitten, aren’t you?” she asked, looking between them. “Don’t! Even answer that,” she added, holding up a hand, “I’ve seen everything I care to. _Everything_ , Hannibal.” Gathering as much poise as possible, Alana made for the door.

Just before she drew level with Will, though, she stopped and turned back. “By the way, Hannibal?”

“Yes?”

“That outfit is the least sexy thing I have ever seen. You look ridiculous.”

Alana gave herself a single, gloriously satisfying moment to enjoy the affronted expression that crossed Hannibal’s face, then spun and brushed past Will without sparing him a glance.

 

After she left, Alana tried hard not to listen at the door. Really hard. She debated with herself for at least seven whole seconds. Then again, she reflected, she was the wounded party here; a little eavesdropping seemed only fair.

With her ear to the door she most certainly hadn't deliberately left ajar, she heard, “Don't listen to her, baby, you're very sexy.”

“You laughed. You _both_ did.”

“I was _surprised_. You were _naked_ in your office. _You. Naked. Office._ ”

“You referred to my sock garters as _little suspenders_.”

“I know, I'm sorry. Hannibal, I grew up dirt poor. You're lucky I can tell a suit from a tuxedo, let alone correctly identify sock garters.”

“I suppose that is true.” There was still a moue in Hannibal's voice.

“Alana was right there, Hannibal! What was I supposed to do, ignore her and just start ravishing you?”

“I would not have objected.”

Alana scowled.

“Would it help if I told you that's exactly what I wanted to do? That I've been ready since the moment I saw you naked? That I'm about to take full advantage of your uncharacteristic lack of layers?” To Alana’s disgust, each question was punctuated with a kiss.

“That might help somewhat, yes…” Hannibal's voice rose in a moan on the last word.

“Now, let me look at this tie… Why, Doctor Lecter, what an impressively sized… _knot_.”

Alana took that as her cue to leave. If she overturned a few objects, skewed a few paintings, smashed a sculpture on her way out… she deemed it completely warranted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tie Hannibal is wearing is the one from his fight with Tobias Budge in Sorbet. The best image I found of it is [here](http://propstore.auctionserver.net/view-auctions/catalog/id/34/lot/6530/), though I thought it showed up rather more brightly orange-toned on the show. Hannibal likes to think of it as the tie he was wearing when he realised he loved Will Graham.
> 
> And because I did actual sock garter research for this (the things we do for love... wait, wrong show), the ones I imagined Hannibal in are made by Albert Thurston and can be found [here](http://www.albertthurston.com/product_display.cfm?prodid=368&sid=1).


	13. Star Wars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Team Sassy Science celebrate Star Wars Day and Alana learns it's time to search her feelings... and those of Will and Hannibal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I've taken a couple of liberties here. For the purposes of this chapter please assume:
> 
> a) Bev's alive (yay!).  
> b) Will's still teaching.  
> c) S2 took place after the release of The Force Awakens.

“I am _not_ C3PO!”

Alana couldn't help a grin at the indignation in Price’s voice. She'd been dispatched to get Beverly Katz’s opinion on a detail in the case she'd been discussing with Will and Hannibal in the former’s lecture theatre and had caught the exclamation from the hallway outside the lab. Not wishing to interrupt the fun, she pressed herself against the wall next to the lab door and listened intently.

“You so are,” Zeller’s voice calmly insisted. “Proper, pedantic and extremely…”

“Gay?” Price asked, in a warning tone.

“I was going for _polished_ , but we can use your word.”

There followed the muffled sounds of a scuffle, which Alana assumed indicated Price was – justifiably – clobbering Zeller.

Beverly’s voice joined the fray. “Quit dancing, you two, we've got more important things to discuss.”

“Oh, like the fact that if I'm Threepio, that makes Zeller R2-D2?” Price asked.

“I'll take it!” Zeller piped up.

Beverly sighed. “I was gonna bring up the body we're supposed to be working on…”

“C’mon, Bev, it's Star Wars Day!” whined Zeller.

“Yeah, May the Fourth be with you!” Price added, brightly.

“I _know_ that!” Beverly said, affronted. “Fine, since you're not going to let it go: you pair couldn't be more Artoo and Threepio if your lives depended on it. You constantly bicker, you're irritating as hell and even though you're completely unnecessary, somehow you're always around.”

“Ok, now I'm definitely offended,” Price grumbled.

“More importantly,” Beverly continued, “who makes up our heroic threesome?”

“Pfft, too easy,” Price responded. “Will is Luke, wide-eyed, idealistic young hero. Dr Bloom is Leia, kickass Princess.”

Outside, Alana felt herself blush, though she generally wasn't so keen on being anybody’s princess.

“And Dr Lecter is Han, roguish, worldly, sexy older man.” Price concluded. “Their names even start the same: Hannibal… Han. See?”

“And he and ‘Leia’ are seeing each other,” Zeller added. Alana raised her brows at this – she hadn't been aware anyone knew about that. Damn Beverly and her relationship radar.

“True,” Beverly agreed, “but that wasn't the film I was thinking of, old man.”

“Hey! Could you maybe ease the insults down to once every five minutes?” objected Price.

“Come on, gramps, there's a whole new film out there now, with exciting new characters for us to compare ourselves to.”

“Yes, I'm aware. If you recall you dragged us to a showing after that day with the baker’s dozen of corpses.”

“You loved it,” Beverly grinned.

“I love _you_ , that's different,” Price told her, “and my argument still stands. Will is Finn, wide-eyed, idealistic young hero. Dr Lecter is Poe, slightly less roguish, only slightly older but equally sexy. And Alana is Rey, kickass lady hero.”

“Please, Alana could _maybe_ be the Leia, but she is so not a Rey,” Zeller objected.

“What are you talking about?” Beverly exclaimed.

_Yeah, what's that supposed to mean?_

“Alana’s beautiful, she's smart, she's hella sexy,” Beverly's defence continued. “And I know she drives a hybrid but have you ever been her passenger when she wants to get somewhere fast? The woman could handle the Millennium Falcon, no problem.”

This time, Alana could find no objections to the description, as she felt her cheeks grow warmer.

“Yeah, ok, granted,” Zeller groused. “But what about this: the whole world and his moisture-farmer uncle ships Finn and Poe, not Poe and Rey.”

“You know about shipping?” Beverly asked in amazement.

“I know about lots of things,” Zeller shot back, defensively.

“If only I'd known all that time you spend online was being used educationally…” Price teased. “And why does that matter?” he added.

“Well, it's Doctor Bloom and Lecter who are together, not Lecter and Graham,” Zeller clarified.

“I hate to break it to you, Z, but you're shipping the wrong couple,” Price scoffed.

_What the hell?_

“He's right, Z,” Beverly told him.

_Ok, what the actual hell?_

“What are you two talking about?” Zeller asked, perplexed.

“Oh come on,” Beverly continued, “have you ever watched Will and Lecter together?”

“Given that neither of them is a buxom woman under the age of thirty, I'm gonna say no,”  
Price interjected.

“Ok, next time you see them together, take a look,” Beverly urged. “All that standing too close, exchanging knowing glances, huddled together in hushed conversation… If the two of them haven't ripped each other's clothes off yet, I'll count it as a minor miracle.”

“Do you think it would be inappropriate to commission some fan art of that?” Price wondered.

As the exchange continued, Alana couldn't help but think back on all the times she’d seen Will and Hannibal together. The way Hannibal looked at Will. The way Will let Hannibal into his personal space. The weird charge she always sensed between them, that she'd thought was residual anger at the things that had been said while Will was imprisoned.

_Oh god._

As Alana turned to run back to the lecture hall, it was with the following ringing in her ears:

“Can you think of a good portmanteau for them?” Price had been asking. “Willibal? Lectham?”

“Neither of those,” Beverly said.

“Yeah, I just can't get it right…”

***

Upon reaching the back entrance to the lecture hall, Alana took a moment to compose herself, before removing her heels and sneaking into the back row of seats, silent on stockinged feet. She needed to be sure – both men could be defensive about their relationship when pressed – _and didn't that tell you everything_ , she mused.

Watching Will and Hannibal interact, Alana realised that she must have been blind not to see what was going on. Even faced with the grim crime scene photos laid before them, each man wore a soft smile and seemed to have little interest in anything but his companion. Alana observed, feeling a fool, the way Hannibal fitted his body against Will’s; the way Will let his hand brush and linger against Hannibal's as he handed off a photo. It didn't take more than a minute for her to be certain of three things:

  1. Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter were hopelessly in love with each other.
  2. She was only the third biggest fool in the room, because they clearly hadn't told each other about it.
  3. Despite her own relationship with Hannibal, she wasn't so much upset as irritated with herself for her failure to read the situation.



Which meant, it was time for a breakup.

“You're Finn and Poe!” she called out, causing the two men to jump and search the darkened auditorium for the source of the announcement. She allowed them to remain baffled for a moment, amused, then stood to draw their attention, making her way towards the stage.

“What’re you doing up there, Alana?” asked Will.

“What was that, I didn't quite hear…” Hannibal said, simultaneously.

“Oh, sorry,” they said together and laughed, embarrassed.

_God, they're actually sorta cute._

“I said, you're Finn and Poe,” Alana repeated, choosing to stand in front of them but below the stage.

“Are you referring to Edgar Allan Poe?” Hannibal asked. “Did you know that Poe…”

“I wasn't,” Alana told him, stemming the literature lecture in progress. “I was referring to Star Wars. The Force Awakens, specifically.”

“The new one?” Will asked. She nodded. “Haven't seen it. What are you talking about?”

“Price, Zeller and Katz were discussing who resembled which Star Wars characters. When it came to you two, turns out that your counterparts are a popular slash pairing.”

“Slash?” asked Will, his expression midway between bemusement and exasperation.

“I believe it is when fans create stories, or other forms of art, featuring fictional characters of the same gender, though most often male, in romantic or sexual relationships.” Oddly, this explanation came from Hannibal.

“You know about slash?” Alana asked in amazement.

“I know about a great many things, Alana.”

“Ok, did you know that the other slash pairing the techs were discussing was the pair of you?”

The stunned looks on their faces suggested not.

“So… when you say we're Poe and Finn…” Will spoke slowly, piecing it together, “you mean there's some sort of… romantic attachment between us?”

Hannibal remained notably silent.

“Yes, Will, and it took about five seconds of watching you dance around each other to confirm it,” Alana informed him.

“That's… that's… absurd,” Will stammered. He looked to the other man for support, “Hannibal, that’s just absurd, isn't it? Hannibal?” Alana knew he was trying but Will entirely failed to keep the pleading, hopeful tone from his voice.

Meeting Will’s eyes with a tiny smile, Hannibal responded, “That is not the word I would choose, dear William, no.”

Alana rolled her eyes.

“Hannibal, tell me how you feel about Will, and be honest.”

“I am in love with him.” There was not even a hint of hesitation. “I apologise for not being more open. With both of you,” he added, inclining his head towards Alana.

“Uh-huh,” she responded. “And Will, tell me how you feel about Hannibal.”

Even with his head bowed, Will's words echoed, “I, uh… I love him, too.”

Alana sighed. “I know.”

_Well, when else am I going to get a chance to use that line?_

“Hannibal, I am hereby breaking up with you. And if you don't kiss Will in the next five seconds I'll…” There was no need to finish that thought, as Will crossed the stage and took matters out of either doctor’s hands. It looked like a very good kiss, Alana conceded, then felt slightly sickened upon realising she knew exactly what both participants were experiencing.

_I really need to get out of here._

Trying not to listen to the sounds emanating from her friends, Alana gathered her things and slipped unnoticed from the auditorium. She had another mission to complete, after all: hunt down Beverly Katz and have a nice long discussion about boundaries and the importance of giving your friends a heads-up about their boyfriends’ wandering eyes.

_And then maybe, when we're done, we can talk about exactly how_ hella sexy _she finds me._

Alana had a pretty good feeling about that.


	14. Headdesk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alana heads to Hannibal's office for a serious conversation, and finds the good doctor oddly distracted...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About a million years ago, the ever-fabulous [Devereauxs_Disease](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Devereauxs_Disease/works) gave me the following prompt for a new chapter of this series: 'Alana goes to Hannibal's office, to let him down gently. She's just not feeling their relationship and honestly, she kinda misses him as a friend. He sits at his desk and courteously listens, doesn't seem upset or angry. He does seem a little distracted. Then she hears a bang from under his desk, and a curse. "What the hell was that?" *Muffled voice* "Hey Alana" And then it just goes into whatever nonsense you wish."
> 
> So, in honour of Hannigram Day, I finally wrote the thing. Thanks for the idea, sweetie, hope you enjoy this!
> 
> Thanks also to my darling [HotMolasses](http://archiveofourown.org/users/HotMolasses/works) for their help with this chapter, which stopped it becoming (more of) an over-complicated mess!

This was not a conversation Alana had ever imagined. Not back when they were student and mentor, and everyone had thought they were having an affair and Alana had thought – and proven – herself far too sensible for that kind of nonsense. And not when they kissed for the first time, slept together for the first time, not when she'd woken up in his bed for the first time and wondered if he'd be happy to have another go before breakfast (and, _oh_ , the fact that he had been more interested in cooking than in a sleepy quickie should have been such a warning but, _no_ , she'd thought it was endearing). In fact it wasn't until two weeks ago, when she'd woken up and felt actively _annoyed_ that Hannibal Lecter was in her bed (or, well, that she was in his; he always seemed to have a good reason for not staying at Alana's place) that she'd imagined having the breakup conversation.

First she'd had to analyse that annoyance minutely, because you don't become a respected psychiatrist without an innate need to analyse _everything_ minutely. There was the fact that she rather missed her friend, the soothingly calm man she'd always trusted to steady and support her. That said, it also had a reasonable amount to do with the way Hannibal announced each meal as though it were a great new discovery, always accompanied by a mini (often not-so-mini) lecture on its provenance or history. It had quite a lot to do with the way Hannibal pursed his lips when she dropped her bag on the floor to kiss him, instead of hanging it up first. It was not unrelated to the fact that he'd requested she not dress herself in his shirts, _only because it would be easy for one to get missed out of its proper laundry rotation_.

Yes, mostly, on reflection, it was down to the fact that Hannibal Lecter in small doses was charming, and a wonderful friend, but Hannibal Lecter as a boyfriend was a pompous, prissy, pretentious old man and even the mind-blowing sex wasn't mind-blowing enough to keep Alana from realising it.

Not to mention, his inability to go an hour without mentioning Will Graham was, frankly, beginning to concern her.

_Enough. You can stand in front of this door forever and think circles around yourself, or you can act like Doctor Alana_ fucking _Bloom and go get your friend back._

So she knocked on his office door and waited for it to open.

And waited.

And waited some more.

What the hell? She knew Hannibal was done with his patients for the day and she knew he was still in the office: the lights were on, the practice door was unlocked, and she had heard movement within the room. And she was certain there was nothing in the world that Hannibal would deem important enough to justify rudely ignoring a visitor.

She knocked again, louder this time, and called out to identify herself. Hannibal certainly wouldn't ignore his (as far as he knew) girlfriend. Such impropriety would probably be tantamount to murder in his fussy little head.

There was a rattle and a bang on the other side of the door, and then a pause before Hannibal's voice rang out. “Alana, how lovely. Do please show yourself in.”

Odd. Alana didn't think she'd ever entered Hannibal's office without his direct accompaniment. She opened the door to find him seated at his desk, practically in the dark, an array of notebooks in front of him. Patient notes, she surmised, perhaps he had just been engrossed in a particularly challenging case and hadn't heard her knocking the first time. Certainly, his desk was not displaying its usual obsessive precision, instead the notebooks were scattered across the surface, along with an array of pens, and the other accoutrements looked to have been bumped from their standard positions. Even Hannibal himself had a certain, well… loosened quality that was wholly unfamiliar. He was as finely dressed as always, but his hair was slightly softer than usual, his tie a little less tight, his eyes a bit heavy-lidded.

Frankly, it was a look that was working for Alana, and might have given her second thoughts if she hadn't also clocked the slight moue of disapproval when she dropped into the chair opposite him.

“I will be finished with my notes presently, Alana. You might be more comfortable in one of the waiting rooms until then?”

It was said with nothing but courtesy and concern for her comfort. It was also blatantly an attempt to get rid of her and Alana hadn't psyched herself up for this just to get turned away as an inconvenience.

“Actually, Hannibal, I need to speak with you about something important and it can't wait. Would you mind?”

For the blink of an eye, the unflappable Doctor Lecter actually looked… well, flapped. His usual composure was quickly re-asserted, though, as Hannibal shifted slightly in his chair and gave her a patient smile. “If it is important, then of course, by all means.”

Alana took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and put on her most consoling expression (the one that had been known to get serial killers and psychopaths to behave nicely). “Hannibal, you know I care very much about you…”

She gave him the good speech. The one that made it clear how much she valued him as a friend and colleague. That flattered his ego by making it sound like he was too good for her. That implied but never explicitly stated that the sex had been the best she’d ever had and would definitely have ruined her for all other partners.

And throughout all this, Hannibal sat, apparently unaffected by Alana’s decision. Not a frown, or a furrowed brow, nothing at all to signal that he was being dumped. If anything, he appeared a little distracted, his eyes occasionally seeming to unfocus before snapping back to her. Alana quickly grew frustrated at her inability to read what was going on in Hannibal’s head and she decided to invoke the one name she knew would get his attention.

“Look, Hannibal, the truth is that I think we started this whole thing for the wrong reasons. I think we were looking for comfort more than anything else and it shouldn’t have gone this far.”

“Comfort?” Hannibal asked, finally looking interested.

“Come on Hannibal, don’t be obtuse. It’s no coincidence that, after years of not crossing that line, suddenly Will Graham’s in prison and… what was that?”

From beneath Hannibal’s desk there had come a bang, and then a faint but definite, “Ow, shit.”

Hannibal, who apparently had suddenly come to the conclusion that Alana was an idiot, tried to cover. “What was what? I didn’t hear anything.”

Alana didn’t bother to dignify that with more of a response than to fix Hannibal with an unimpressed glare, instead addressing herself to the unidentified desk-dweller. Whose voice had sounded horribly familiar. “Who is under there, please?”

“Hi, Alana,” the muffled, sheepish, but unmistakeable voice of Will Graham said.

“Hello, Will,” she answered, forcing her voice to remain cool and steady. “Let me guess, you just dropped your pen.”

“There’s very little chance of you buying that, right?” Will asked.

“I’d say there’s a better chance of you declaring yourself a cat person. You might as well come out from under there,” she added, “I don’t really feel like conversing with the furniture.”

There was a pause, and Alana noticed Hannibal’s eyes widen just slightly.

“Nah,” Will responded, with forced casualness, “I’m pretty comfy down here.”

“Will Graham, you get your ass up here and face me like a goddamn grownup.”

Hannibal let out a tiny, polite cough and said, “I suspect Will would rather remain where he is, given that he currently has no clothes on.” He indicated a small pile of clothes by one of the armchairs, including, Alana noticed, two sets of pants and underwear, one lot meticulously folded and matching Hannibal’s suit jacket.

She turned back, unmoved. “Sadly for him, Will forfeited the right to comfort when he decided to start sleeping with my boyfriend.”

Hannibal looked abashed and Alana heard the sigh from under the desk that indicated she’d struck home there too. A moment later a hand emerged and shoved Hannibal’s seat back, revealing Hannibal’s bare legs and making it clear that Will had been well-occupied while Alana delivered her speech. She was almost impressed Hannibal hadn't been cross-eyed through the whole thing. There was a pause, another sigh and then Will’s head and shoulders popped up above the desk.

“This far enough, or do you want the whole show?” he snarked.

“I think I’ll survive just fine without seeing little Will,” she snapped back.

“Will, Alana,” Hannibal interjected, placing a steadying hand on Will’s shoulder, “we should at least attempt to remain civil-”

“Don’t you even start with that crap, Hannibal,” Alana growled, rounding on him. “It's bad enough you're cheating on me but what are you thinking, sleeping with your patient? It’s wholly unethical, and illegal. You have nothing to say on the subject of civility.”

Hannibal’s mouth thinned but his tone remained level as he said, “In fact, Will remains an unofficial patient. He does not pay me for these appointments.”

“Oh, so it's payment in kind, then?”

“Hey!” Will looked as outraged as a disembodied head could. “I'm not whoring myself out Alana, I’m doing this because…”

“Yes, Will? Just why are you blowing off my boyfriend under his desk?”

“Because I damn well wanted to. Because I like it. Because he says I'm the best he's ever had.”

“He says _what_?”

Alana wasn’t sure she’d seen Hannibal looking nauseous before, but there was certainly something green in his complexion now, as he looked from Alana to Will. He took a deep breath and then looked Alana in the eye.

“Alana, your technique is exemplary, while Will is somewhat… unpractised in this area.” Will made a small, somewhat offended noise at this, but Hannibal quickly continued, “However, I have learned, in our brief acquaintance, that very little compares to Will Graham in the flesh. Nothing, in fact.”

Taking in the utterly smitten looks the two exchanged at this caused Alana to have a revelation. She had assumed this was hate sex, or perhaps Will trying to punish her for not believing in his innocence. Now, it was blindingly obvious: somehow, these two complete weirdos had fallen head over heels for each other.

“Oh god,” she said, her ire rapidly deflating, “you actually like each other.”

Will ducked his head and, blushing, muttered, “Yeah.”

Hannibal beamed and drew his chair forward to allow him to wrap his arms around Will. It seemed to take him a moment to remember that Alana was still there and school his expression into something somewhat less cat-that-got-the-cream.

Alana considered the picture they made. Other than the awkward pose caused by Will’s continued use of the desk as a barricade, they did look good together. They looked… _dammit_ , it shouldn't be possible for a pair of half-naked, middle-aged idiots to look, well, _cute_ but somehow they were managing it. She really wasn't sure how her evening had gone from planning a breakup, to being cheated on, to making _awww_ faces at the men doing the cheating. She was a little bit disgusted with herself. Still, Alana had always been good at making the best of things, and right now she spied an opportunity to reclaim two of her dearest friendships, and come out smelling of the very expensive roses Hannibal would be buying her as (part of) his apology.

“Ok, I think… if this is more than just a fling…” Both men nodded, looking puppyish in their conviction. “Then I think I can see my way to forgiving you and repairing our friendship…”

“Alana, that's… you’re really amazing,” Will interrupted, then shut up quickly again as Alana continued.

“On two conditions. First: I want to be present when Jack is informed.”

Will winced but Hannibal looked utterly amused at the prospect. Alana suspected he was rather looking forward to that encounter.

“And second,” she said, rising from her seat and moving casually towards the armchairs, “you forgive me for this.” With which she grabbed the discarded clothing and headed, at speed, for the door.

Ten minutes later, she sat in her car and watched gleefully as Hannibal (whose fastidiousness apparently did not extend to keeping an extra suit in the office) and Will ran, full-pelt and half-naked, for Hannibal's car. It was rather sweet, she supposed, that Hannibal had given Will his jacket and one of his socks. Just not as sweet as having footage of their mad dash on her phone for the sake of posterity. The esteemed Hannibal Lecter and the gifted Will Graham, caught on camera resembling nothing so much as a pair of plucked and panicked chickens… Alana was going to have a lot of fun with that video. She wondered if she still had Freddie Lounds’ number…


	15. Body Swap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alana wakes up in the most pleasant possible way... well, part of her does, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A birthday gift for my dearest Murder Twin, the fabulous and ridiculously talented [Devereauxs_Disease](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Devereauxs_Disease/pseuds/Devereauxs_Disease). May your day be full of cannibal dick jokes and murderous fluff <3

Alana woke to lips kissing their way, slowly but determinedly, down her throat. A pair of petal-red, plush, pouting lips that could curve in soft, warm affection or curl with wicked, playful amusement. A pair of lips that Alana had watched deliver lectures, provide advice and reassurance, give erudite and engaging opinions on art, culture and philosophy… all of which had clearly been a waste since Alana could think of no better employment for these lips than producing the teasing, maddening, perfect pressure that was already making her body thrum with anticipation.

Hannibal Lecter’s lips could cause a lifelong atheist to cry out in appreciation to a benevolent God.

They certainly had made Alana do so.

She cracked an eye, far from true consciousness, and caught a glimpse of ruffled hair, twinkling eyes and a smirk that should have been insufferably smug… and was, but Alana could stand to suffer it in return for other benefits. Hannibal loomed over her for a moment, eyes roaming her sleepy face, and then he slid down, sinuous and graceful, set his teeth to her shoulder and bit down, not entirely gently. That was new, and Alana wasn’t quite sure she liked it, but Hannibal didn’t give her time to complain, flashing a wicked grin and disappearing under the covers. Grinning herself, she let her eyes fall shut again and gave into the indulgence of just feeling.

There was something buzzing at the back of her mind, though, some niggling little thought that just wouldn’t die. Something about… she was sure she’d intended to spend the night at her own house. And… hadn’t she put on a nightdress before going to sleep? She tried to  remember but her sleep-logged brain couldn’t cope with complex concepts _and_ whatever Hannibal was doing with his hands just at that moment, so she let it go again.

And anyway, she thought, gasping as he dipped his tongue into her naval, she wouldn’t put it past Hannibal to get her clothes off as she slept…

Alana let her legs fall apart and was pleasantly surprised to hear an approving moan from beneath the covers. Hannibal was a really, very, extremely, almost freakishly excellent lover but the one thing missing from his repertoire was noise – as in, he rarely if ever made any. It might have been unsettling, but Alana had decided to put it down to Hannibal being a man who always focused on the task at hand… and she could hardly argue with his results. This morning, though, Hannibal seemed to have broken through whatever restraint usually kept him silent, judging by the stream of muffled hums and little moans coming from beneath the sheets. Alana rather hoped it was a permanent development, as Hannibal’s voice was a turn on all by itself. She was pretty certain he could bring her to orgasm just by reading the phone book.

Something for the future, perhaps...

As Hannibal kissed and tongued his way down the inside of her thighs she couldn’t help but give a contented sign in response. And wow, even allowing for morning congestion, her voice wasn’t normally that deep; she hoped she wasn’t coming down with something, though the thought of Hannibal playing doctor, hmm…

Alana was just considering whether it was possible to clear her throat without ruining the mood, when Hannibal finally settled between her legs and all coherent thought fled as he took her cock deep in his warm, wet…

Wait, her _what?_

Alana bucked underneath Hannibal and squealed – in a voice that very definitely wasn’t her own – “What the fuck? Get off me, get off, _Hannibal_!”

He did so, pulling off with an audible _pop_ that caused Alana’s stomach to turn, and then scrambling up from beneath the bedclothes to regard her with such a naked expression of concern that Alana could hardly believe it was Hannibal's face making it. His normal stoicism and restraint were gone as he took her face in his hands and stilled her shocked thrashing. “Darling, tell me what’s wrong. Is it a seizure?” He checked her eyes, though none of his usual clinical detachment was in the gesture. “Talk to me if you are able, please. Please Will.”

_Will?_

Alana looked back at him and, warily, in a voice that suddenly sounded horribly familiar, asked, “Why did you just call me Will?”

Terror flickered in Hannibal’s eyes and Alana felt his grip tighten very slightly before he said, “Because that is your name. You are Will Graham. It is twenty five to eight am. And you are in my bedroom.” He said each item slowly, like a mantra, his voice tightening on the last word and Alana wondered which of them it was meant to calm.

She shook her head slowly. “I’m not Will,” she whispered.

Hannibal’s mouth tightened, that mouth that had been doing such wonderful things to… _to_ _Will, oh god…_

“Then who do you believe you are?” he asked, softly, like he was trying not to startle a skittish animal.

Alana opened her mouth, whether to answer or scream, she wasn’t sure, but was interrupted by the bang of a door opening and the frantic voice of a woman screaming, “ _Hannibal!_ Please for the love of fuck tell me you’re here.”

Alana narrowed her eyes. “I think your other half has just arrived with my other half,” she hissed, and then flung Hannibal off the bed. As she’d hoped, it was much more effective in Will’s body and he landed hard on his ass, his expression shocked and furious.

“Will,” he said, tone now firm and controlled, “I do not know what is going on here but—”

“I. Told. You.” Alana cut him off, glaring as he got to his feet. “I'm not Will.”

Hannibal grimaced, impatient at her insistence. “Will, that is patently absurd. I can _see_ you are yourself. Please, stop this foolishness and let me go and see what is going on downstairs.”

Speaking of which, the woman’s voice, which had moved towards the back of the house, yelling for Hannibal all the way  – _obviously knows to look in the kitchen first_ , Alana thought, sneeringly – was now coming closer again, the intruder making their way up the stairs. “Hannibal, if you're not here I'm gonna gut you like a fucking fish!” it screamed.

Hannibal took a step towards the door but Alana grabbed him by the arm, smirking. “Oh no, my friend, you're staying right here. I want to see everyone's reaction up close. Especially mine.”

Hannibal gave her a look like she'd lost her mind – _nope, just my body_ – and struggled, but Will’s body really was much stronger than her own and Alana was determined, so she pulled him face down onto the bed and placed a knee between his shoulder blades, holding him in place.

At which point, the bedroom door burst open and Alana stumbled through it.

Well, her body did, at least. Given its state of dress – a pair of old sweats and the only plaid shirt she owned, _and what, did he have some sort of plaid radar?_ – and the fact that it had come straight to Hannibal's, she assumed it was Will in the driving seat.

“Oh shit,” Will-in-Alana said, taking in the scene.

“Oh shit is right, buddy,” Alana shot back, pressing down heavily on Hannibal to stop him trying to buck her off. “Which do you want to deal with first, huh? The fact that I’m in your body or the fact that it seems my boyfriend’s dick’s been in here too?”

Will flapped Alana’s mouth like a distressed goldfish and Alana suspected that it was the most stupid expression her face had ever pulled. Then he said, “If I promise not to say ‘this isn't what it looks like,’ will you promise not to do anything rash with my body? Including suffocating Hannibal with it?” which at least proved there was a functioning brain in there somewhere.

Hannibal, who had finally stopped thrashing, was now attempting to raise his head enough to see what was going on, straining to look between his displaced, disgruntled lovers. “Alana,” he panted, squinting up at Will, “would you kindly inform me what you mean by barging into my home and screaming at the top of your lungs?”

Will shook Alana’s head, smiling sadly. “I'm not Alana.”

There was silence in the room for a moment, then Hannibal whispered, “Will?”

Alana dug Will’s knee deeper into his back, drawing a pained groan. “Oh, of course, _him_ you believe! Cheating fuckbags stick together, right?”

“Alana!” Will exclaimed, advancing on the bed and making to pull her off Hannibal – _ha, get ready to miss that upper body strength, pal_. “You are actually going to suffocate him and I'd rather you didn't use my body as a murder weapon.”

“Oh right,” she shot back, letting all her weight drop, “you prefer getting psycho prison guards to do it for you!”

She was about to continue ranting, but at that point Will managed to get hold of her hands. The shock of physical contact with her body, _from outside_ , hit Alana full-force and she felt panic rise, along with a large amount of bile. She launched herself off Hannibal, past Will and into Hannibal’s en-suite, scrabbling the door locked and heaving the remnants of whatever Will’s dinner had been into the pristine toilet. She stayed put for a couple of minutes, snapping at Hannibal to “Fuck. Off. Bastard,” when he started pounding on the door.

Once she was sure the nausea had passed, she hauled herself off the floor and crossed to stand in front of the enormous bathroom mirror, assessing the damage. Pale and sweaty, but that was hardly unusual for Will. Definitely more sex hair than usual; the look would be _freshly_ _fucked_ if it wasn't more _freshly freaked out_. As for the rest, well, Will might come over as sensitive and trembling but Alana was more than aware of the fine form concealed beneath all that plaid – _and seriously, how deep into her closet did he have to look to find that shirt? –_ though the copious underarm hair was a surprise. And a quick look south only confirmed what seeing Will in his boxers had hinted at. No wonder Hannibal had been making such pleased noises earlier.

_Now… there's an interesting thought..._

She walked out of the bathroom just in time to see her body wrapped in Hannibal’s arms, as Hannibal said, in a soothing tone, “You know, Will, there may be some benefits to this predicament…”

Will-in-Alana pulled back and smacked Hannibal in the chest. “ _No_ , Hannibal! I am not using Alana's body just to have sex with you.”

“Oh? Really?” Alana interjected, incredulous. “Cos you sure didn't seem to have any problem with him using it while _I_ was in there.”

Will hung Alana’s head in shame.

Hannibal frowned and said, “That was not in fact what I was suggesting, merely that there may be some interesting psychological insights to be gleaned from this experience. However, I believe we now have more pressing concerns. Such as what you plan to do with my nail scissors, Alana.”

Will’s head snapped up and his eyes flickered from Alana’s face to the scissors in her hand.

Alana let Will’s mouth pull into the cruel smirk she'd seen there too often lately. “Well, y’see, it's like this, you two are going to answer some questions, or I'm gonna castrate little Will here.”

“No!” both men shouted, apparently too panicked – or too enamoured of Will’s dick – to realise that this option involved way too much pain and blood loss to be viable.

“Good, ok. First, how long has this sordid little _thing_ been going on?” she asked, sneering.

The two looked at each other, resigned.

“Pretty much since I got out of prison,” muttered Will. “Had to deal with my feelings for him.”

“Jesus,” Alana snapped, “we hadn't even been together that long, Hannibal!”

“I apologise, Alana,” Hannibal said, and it might have been convincing, except that his arm remained firmly wrapped around Will’s waist. “I could not have predicted that Will would be interested in pursuing such a relationship.”

Alana saw red. “Well given that he tried to _murder you_ , I suppose that's fair!”

Will narrowed his eyes and stepped forward slightly. “You shouldn't talk about things you know nothing about, Alana.”

“Besides,” Hannibal added, backing up Will without hesitation, “that matter is between me and Will and we have settled it to our satisfaction.”

“Oh I just bet.” _Hard to fight when your tongues are down each other's throats._ “And the part where he accused you of framing him and being a serial killer yourself?”

“Will understands now that I never wanted to do anything but help him. He has assured me that he will not try to hurt me or accuse me again and I believe him.” As if to prove it, Will leaned back into Hannibal and joined their hands. Alana stared at the gesture in disgust.

“Wow, the blowjobs must be amazing,” she said, flatly. “God knows why you kept fucking me. How did that feel, Will? Did you enjoy being his bit on the side?”

“Alana, that is enough!” Hannibal barked.

“God, if I weren't the one being cheated on, I could legitimately write an entire book on how fucked up and insane the pair of you are.” She raised her hands, and the nail scissors, up in mock-surrender. “I've had it. I give in. You're perfect for each other. Once we get this Freaky Friday horrorshow sorted out, I'm washing my hands of your bullshit. You're welcome to shag each other's nasty little brains out and I want nothing to do with either of you cheating lunatic bastards ever again.”

And then she blacked out.

* * *

“Will? Will, my Will, please, say something.”

“Urgh.”

“Darling, can you hear me?”

For the second time that day, Alana woke to the sight of Hannibal Lecter looming over her. This time, however, it was not to kisses and under-the-sheets fun, but to a panicky and pleading wreck.

As she lay there, allowing Hannibal to check her over, two things occurred to her.

The first was: _wow, Hannibal looks different when he's in love._

And the second: _hey look, boobs!_

She slapped Hannibal's hands away from her chest and wriggled into a seated position, grinning dopily down at the sight of her own body, right where it ought to be.

“Will,” Hannibal said, all exasperated concern, attempting to resume his checkup.

Alana gripped both his wrists, hard, and growled, “Wrong again, asshole.”

She took no small amount of satisfaction in the startled look he gave her.

“Over here, baby,” Will’s voice came from across the room.

_Baby? Ick._

Hannibal looked at Alana for a moment, then promptly released his grip and let her fall to the floor as he scrambled over to Will. Alana heard an _oof_ as a sitting Will was tackled to the ground and looked across to see him very possibly having the life kissed out of him by a very relieved Hannibal.

When they finally broke for air, Hannibal cradled Will’s face in his hands and stared for a long moment. “I was worried you were gone, my love,” he said eventually.

“Idiot,” Will said, “not going anywhere. Could have swapped bodies with Buster and I'd still follow you around until you recognised me.”

“And I would.”

“Yep. So, see, I need to keep you around to help me out if this craziness ever happens again, love.” They grinned inanely at each other while Alana tried not to gag. Then Will’s eyebrows – _thank god I didn’t have to try wrangling those hairy beasts_ – drew together in concern. “So, why the hell did we switch back anyway?”

“I do not know, beloved,” Hannibal replied, looking torn between curiosity and just wanting to tackle Will all over again.

Still lying on the floor where Hannibal had so unceremoniously dumped her, Alana started to laugh hysterically. “Oh god,” she panted out, between paroxysms of mirth, “oh god, you haven't got it, have you?”

They stared at her, as one, and the sheer _coupledom_ of it caused her to dissolve into laughter all over again. It was that, or punch them.

Eventually, she got a hold of herself and heaved herself up to sit on the bed.

“Would you care to enlighten us, Alana?” Hannibal asked, coldly expectant.

“Promise to lay off the sickening sentimental crap?”

Hannibal's face went flat, inexpressive, but Will’s hand found his arm and the contact immediately caused him to relax, if only minutely. “You have my word,” he told her, slick solicitude instantly restored.

Alana grimaced at it. _Has he always been so insincere?_

“Guess your famous insight is on the fritz today. Cos it's obvious to me – the second I finally figured out that you two weren't worth my time or energy, the bad mojo lifted. The whole universe must have been screaming at me for weeks to stop being so blind. God, the Easter Bunny, fucking Cthulhu, something bent the laws of nature just to out you as a pair of lying, cheating scumbags who are too obsessed with each other to care about anyone else. How does that feel?”

Will scoffed at her theory, rolling his eyes incredulously. But Hannibal actually looked unsettled, and Alana felt a thrill of victory. She knew fine well that it was probably fanciful nonsense… but then she had been in another person’s body not ten minutes ago, and she also knew Hannibal had a not-so-well-hidden fanciful streak himself.

She felt precisely zero regret for aiming at it.

Will, ever attuned to the emotions of others, took one look at Hannibal and turned serious. He placed a reassuring hand against Hannibal's cheek for a moment and then stepped towards Alana.

“You know,” he said, “you're probably right, Alana. You're probably much better off away from us. Far, far away.” There was something of the old Will in his eyes when he said it, some remnant of that kindness that used to balance out Will’s brooding and cynicism. There and gone in a second, though, replaced by that cruel smirk she had imitated earlier, unfurling as Will reached back to fold Hannibal's arms around him. “But,” he added, “if the universe wanted to enlighten you, it also didn't want to split me and him up. In fact, given that I imagine you won't hesitate to tell Jack all about this – leaving out the _bad mojo_ , of course – I guess maybe what it really wants is for us to go public. And well,” he added, with an unpleasant little chuckle, “if the universe can't split us up, sure as hell your little bitching session can't either.”

Hannibal gave a huff of amusement as Will pressed a kiss to his cheek. Then he met Alana’s eyes and said, “I believe you know the way out.”

And really, what else was there to say?

The last thing Alana heard as she exited the bedroom was Hannibal saying, “Perhaps you would like to spend the rest of the weekend on the coast. I have a little property on the edge of a bluff…”

So she made sure to slash the tyres on Hannibal's car before she left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come share your murder husbands love and feels with me on [tumblr](http://victorineb.tumblr.com/).


	16. Bed Sharing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alana spends the night in a fancy hotel with her boyfriend. Which would be great if Will wasn't there too...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a horribly belated birthday present for my dear murder twin, the utterly fabulous DevereauxsDisease. Apologies for the completely unforgiveable lateness, hon, and I hope you enjoy <3<3<3

“What about a camp bed?”

“A camp bed, sir?”

“Yes. A roll-away, a cot, hell I’ll take an inflatable mattress at this point.”

Alana watched as Will’s hand gestures passed the point of dramatic and into danger-to-bystanders, and rolled her eyes. She wasn’t exactly happy about the situation either, but _she_ wasn’t making a scene. Will Graham could be a real drama queen when he wanted to – that whole shy, retiring puppy routine was just a convenient disguise.

“Sir, we are not the kind of establishment that retains such things as _camp beds_.” The receptionist drew out the last two syllables with a kind of officious sarcasm that made Alana smirk. Nice for Will to get a taste of his own snark for once.

“Will,” Hannibal’s voice rolled between the two opponents, smooth and placating. “The situation is not ideal, it is true, but we are lucky to have been provided a room at all at this late hour and without a booking. Please allow this gentleman to check us in and then we will see what arrangements can be made.”

For a moment Will looked like he might keep arguing, or possibly just deck Hannibal, but then he visibly deflated and stepped aside. Hannibal bestowed an approving smile upon him, to be met with a glare, so he turned it to Alana instead, adding what he probably imagined was a wink. She gave him a wide, warm smile in response – hopefully Will would just silently sulk his way through the night and make it easy to ignore him.

“I don’t see why I can’t just sleep in the car.”

Or not. Alana sighed as Will took up the same argument they’d been having since it became apparent that the worsening snowfall wasn’t safe to drive in and there was no way they’d be making it back from the (frustratingly unrewarding) case Jack had sent them out on until morning at the earliest. He would insist yet again that there was nothing wrong with sleeping in a car, that he’d done it plenty of times in his childhood and had turned out perfectly fine ( _debatable_ , Alana thought). And Hannibal would make the same completely obvious points that the weather was freezing, the hire car was cramped, and Jack would never forgive him if his prize empath returned to him either frozen or in need of emergency osteopathy. Round and round they went, as if they were more interested in poking at each other than in actually getting checked in at all.

She was getting really bored of this routine now.

“Hi, I’m sorry for my colleague,” she said, stepping up to the desk with an apologetic smile, “he has a phobia of letting people do nice things for him.” In the background, Will let out an indignant _Hey!_ but she ignored him in favour of behaving like an actual grownup. “Is there anything else we need to do to check in, or can we leave you in peace and head on up to our room?”

“Thank you madam,” the receptionist said, with a conspiratorial smile, “if the gentleman will simply sign this form, I can hand over your key.”  

“Wonderful. Will, be quiet for two minutes and let Hannibal finish up so we can at least sit down while you complain.”

Will crossed his arms and glared at her but, thankfully, kept his mouth shut as Hannibal signed with a flourish and accepted their keys.

Funny, though, Alana could swear that the receptionist threw Hannibal a wink as they turned towards the elevators. Maybe he was just demonstrating how they worked.

 

* * *

 

“I'm going to sleep in the tub.” 

Well, Alana wasn't going to argue with that. If Will wanted to martyr himself while she enjoyed the enormous, luxurious looking bed in the arms of her enormous, luxurious boyfriend, that was his business.  

Sadly, Hannibal disagreed.

“I cannot allow you to do so, Will. Quite apart from the inconvenience of having to wake you should one of us require the use of the bathroom during the night, the potential damage to your back and neck is quite unacceptable.”

“Since when do you care about my body's well-being?” Will growled.

Alana opened her mouth to object – _Hannibal_ wasn't the one who'd tried to have Will killed – but Hannibal got in before her.

“As I have told you before, Will, you are my friend. I care about you in all your aspects.” Will sneered but said nothing. “I also have no qualms about telling you when you are being foolish. The bed is more than large enough to fit all of us and we are all, I hope, mature enough to spend one night together without disaster.”

Will looked mutinous, and his continued unpleasant behaviour rubbed Alana the wrong way. “Will, you're behaving like a child. Hannibal's right, let's just put our differences to one side and get some sleep,” she told him, exasperated. 

“Fine. But we're going top to tail.”

Hannibal raised an eyebrow with what looked remarkably close to a look of incredulity. Alana translated for him: “He means he'll sleep with his head at the foot of the bed.”

The look of incredulity turned to one of faint distaste. “I would prefer not to sleep with your feet next to my nose.”

Will snorted. “I'll shower beforehand, doctor, I wouldn't dare compromise your delicate nasal sensibilities.”

“Even so, I would prefer not to be kicked in the middle of the night and I am aware you tend to be somewhat of a restless sleeper.”

“I don't need to be asleep to want to kick your teeth in.”

“Will!” Alana seethed. “Hannibal saved us from a freezing night in the car, at his own expense, and all you can do is behave like a thug. I really thought better of you.” A thought occurred to her. “And anyway, who says you'll be sleeping next to Hannibal?”

Both men looked at her with expressions entirely devoid of intelligence.

“Excuse me?” Will blurted.

“I’ll sleep between you.” And she definitely wouldn't mention the fantasies she'd had involving exactly that.

Will just goggled at her, mouth flapping like one of his landed fish, and Alana stared right back, realising belatedly that Will might well have read that thought on her face. And then, horribly, realising that he probably had entertained fantasies of a similar nature.

Sans Hannibal of course.

Maybe this was a really bad idea…

“I'm afraid I could not allow that either, Alana,” Hannibal's voice cut softly through her thoughts. She turned her rapidly-flushing face away from Will's own rosy cheeks to look over at him. “I could hardly call myself a gentleman if I allowed my significant other to be put in such a position. Besides which, I must admit, I am too possessive to bear the thought of it. No, if anyone is to sacrifice their comfort in this situation, it will be me.”

Behind them, Will snorted, and muttered something that Alana couldn’t quite make out but that apparently required a full-body eye roll. Then he let out an exaggerated sigh and flapped his hands in defeat. “Look, it’s fine, I’ll sleep next to Hannibal. Head where it’s supposed to be,” he added, petulantly. “I’m sure you two will be playing big spoon, little spoon anyway.” He sounded bitter, and if Alana hadn’t been completely exhausted, she might have called him out on his jealousy. Instead, she just threw an exasperated smile at Hannibal, who stroked a hand through her hair and leaned in to brush a kiss against her cheek.

“Thank you, Will,” he said, moving away from Alana to hang up his coat. “I know it’s hardly ideal but it will be better if we all try to make the best of it.”

Will just glared and stomped off to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

They managed another three arguments before finally getting into bed (the biggest of which concerned the fact that Hannibal wasn’t wearing an undershirt and would therefore have to sleep in nothing but his underwear, a fact which caused Will to turn a most interesting shade of puce). However, eventually Alana found herself with Hannibal’s thickly-furred chest spooned up against her (she ignored Will’s derisive snort upon discovering he had been right about their sleeping positions). Closing her eyes, she could imagine that it was just her and Hannibal, tucked up on a romantic getaway, no surly third wheel empaths in tow.

At least, she could until it turned out Will was the type who needed to change positions every two minutes in order to get comfortable, and made plenty of noise doing it. She sighed and snuggled deeper into Hannibal’s pelt. Let Will grouse all he liked, she was definitely the winner here.

* * *

 

Alana awoke in the pre-dawn gloom, shaking off the remnants of a dream of being suffocated by the whole of Will's pack sleeping on her, Applesauce joining them to lie on her head. Cracking an eye open, she quickly ascertained that the cause of her nightmare was also the reason she was covered in sweat despite the temperature-controlled room: at some point during the night, her bedmates had shucked off the covers and deposited them on top of her. If Hannibal had been conscious, she would have been shocked at the rudeness. Though at least he'd stopped spooning her, she reflected, as she freed herself from her Egyptian cotton prison and sat up, otherwise she might simply have melted… away… 

_Oh._

Apparently Hannibal hadn't released her from his arms because he was hot. Or rather, he was hot, just not for her.

Her boyfriend and the man who had tried to have him killed were twined about each other, a picture of peaceful intimacy. The lack of blankets left nothing to the imagination: Will and Hannibal lay facing each other, Will with one leg hitched over Hannibal's thigh, a hand lain on top of his chest, Hannibal with both arms locked protectively around Will's torso. And, as if to add insult to injury, Will's head was in the exact position Alana's had been so many times, buried in Hannibal's neck, while Hannibal…

Alana realised with a jolt that while Hannibal usually held her after sex, it was never like this. His arms were always loose, his head fallen back against his pillow, maintaining a distance even in their most intimate moments. But now, he was embracing Will like the man would have to fight to get free, and his head was bent low against Will's, his nose and mouth buried in sleep-mussed curls. He looked…

Well, they looked…

_Shit._  

They looked like they fit. Like they'd always meant to be like this. Like anyone who tried to get between them would only ever be _in the way_.

Exactly how they always looked, in other words.

They looked fucking perfect and it was pissing Alana off because now she thought about it, it was so fucking obvious. The way they spoke like it was a dance, the way they stood just that little bit too close, the way their eyes would instantly find the other’s in any room. Dammit, could she really yell at them for falling in love? She wasn't even sure there was anything to shout about - for all she knew, they were no wiser about their feelings themselves. In fact, there was a good chance they were going to wake up and freak out… well, Will would freak out at least. Hannibal would be all reasonable and charming and they'd spend at least three days debating their feelings with liberal use of pretentious and obscure metaphors and, holy shit there was no way Alana was going to be around for that clusterfuck.

She needed to get out of this room before the two idiots involved her any more in their romantic snafu.

Moving as silently as possible, she slid from the bed and took stock of the situation. There were no bags to pack, all she had on her was her purse and briefcase, both neatly stacked on a chair and easily grabbed. All she had to do before getting out of the room was change back into her clothes and smooth down the worst of her bed head. She could be in a taxi (at Hannibal’s expense, obviously) and on her way back to Baltimore before either of the two sleeping beauties could wake up and start trying to pretend they were “just friends” again.

Maybe she’d even leave them a note. _Just kiss already. Love, everyone who’s ever met you._

Plan made, she crept into the bathroom, grabbing her clothes on the way, and closed the door softly behind her. Blessing the gods of five star hotels for complimentary toothpaste, she cleaned up as best she could and pulled on her clothes, reflecting that if Hannibal’s idea of courtship included being accused of murder and nearly killed, she was probably better out of that relationship.

And then she heard it, a sleepy grunt that signalled somebody was on the verge of waking. She looked to the door and tried to calculate if she could feasibly flee before whoever was now awake could stop her. She stepped towards it, reasoning that even if they did try, who was gonna be the one who made it to the car – the fully dressed woman or the half-naked man with bedhead and a guilty expression? Even Hannibal couldn’t bring dignity to that look.

Sadly, her escape was not to be, for just as she reached for the handle, another noise filtered through the door. Not a grunt this time, but the sound of Will sleepily asking, “Where am… what… Hannibal?”

Oh, wonderful. Now she was going to be treated to the full symphonic experience of Will Graham in emotional freefall.

“Hannibal… I…”

“Will, let me…”

_Yup, here it comes._

“Oh god, Hannibal… that feels so good…”

_Wait, what?_

That was definitely not the sound of an emotional breakdown. Unless emotional breakdowns involve moaning someone’s name in such a blatantly pornographic tone that Alana was sure she was blushing on Will’s behalf.

But surely they weren’t going to… not when she could still have been in bed next to them… they wouldn’t…

“ _Ohhhhhhhhh_ , Will _please_ , don’t stop!”

Well. Fuck.

What followed were the longest thirteen minutes of Alana’s life, during which she learned that, unless one is an active participant in proceedings, sex noises and dirty talk are nothing short of completely mortifying.

_Like this, just like… ohhh… ohhhhhhh Will!_

_Ah, fuck, Hannibal not so hard… hey, I didn’t tell you to stop, just don’t rip it off!_

_Come on, baby_ (baby! Who knew Will Graham was one for pet names?) _, I’m so close._

_Beautiful… oh… yes there… yes… *incomprehensible moaning in French*_

_Yeah, you like that, baby? Gonna get inside you next time, gonna make you feel it._

Honestly, it was like listening to badly produced porn. Plus Hannibal kept making this really strange high-pitched mewling noise that she was sure he’d never made around her. Will seemed to like it though, if his increase in _baby_ ’s was anything to go by.

Finally, they finished, with what could only be described as a squeal from Will that made Alana extremely glad she’d never let him get further than a kiss. She could hear them panting, no doubt gazing into each other’s eyes, as if they were the first people ever to give each other orgasms.

Bastards.

At this point, Will finally started in with the predicted shrieking:

“Oh fuck, we forgot about Alana!”

“Who?”

_Who?!_ _Oh that is not going to stand._

“Ok, I was just going to sneak out quietly and concede defeat,” Alana growled as she marched out of the bathroom and towards the bed, “but the better part of a decade listening to your pretentious lectures on art and drinking your terrible beer – seriously, what do you put in that stuff, Hannibal? – means I deserve better than a ‘Who?’”

She paused to shoot a withering look at Will, who was trying to pull the covers up to his chin, despite still wearing his t-shirt. Hannibal was still shamelessly flashing his pelt, of course.

“Oh please, Will, as if I haven’t seen both of you dressed for bed,” she snarked, enjoying the look of jealous confusion that flashed across Hannibal’s face. Will could explain that one if he felt like it.

“Alana, I’m… it isn’t… and we haven’t…” Will stammered, giving up the struggle with the bedsheets and dropping his head into his hands instead.

“I genuinely don’t give a fuck, Will. Even though I just heard loud and clear that it is and you have.” They gaped at her, unattractively. There was a piece of Hannibal’s hair standing straight up on end that added to the effect, and it took every ounce of willpower Alana had to keep from laughing in his face. “No, seriously, it was a great show. Bit too heavy on the ‘baby’s, and some of the noises Hannibal was making were just weird, but overall you got the job done. A solid seven out of ten, but it was your first time, so I bet you can bump it up to an eight if you practice really hard.”

By this point Will had turned so red Alana was mildly concerned he might burn up from the inside, and even Hannibal looked as if he was squirming a little. Time to really put the knife in, she decided.

“There’s really just one thing to say before I go – and I’m taking the car, by the way, you can make your own way back. I just have to wonder – how is Will going to react when he finds out that you set this little stunt up?”

“He _what?_ ” Will yelled, as Hannibal pulled out the most innocent of his faces, the one that would never fool Alana again after this debacle.

“I’m afraid you are mistaken, Alana, or perhaps trying to discredit-”

“Shut up, Hannibal. I saw the wink the receptionist gave you last night. I thought he was just flirting, but when I think about it, you were so eager to get into the building before the rest of us. Almost rude, even, leaving us to park the car while you ran off into the warm. Paid him off to tell us there was only one room, right?” 

“Oh god,” Will groaned, and, seeing that he wasn’t convincing anyone anymore, Hannibal allowed a smug expression to overtake his innocent one.

“Very clever of you, Alana,” he purred. “I must admit, I did not intend for things to go quite _this_ far-”

“You mean you didn’t _intentionally_ give Will a handjob whilst I was in earshot?” Alana snapped.

“Um…” Will shot her a look that she was sure he’d copied from one of the dogs when they’d been caught doing something naughty. Buster, probably. “Hannibal wasn’t, technically, the one giving the handjob. Not that that excuses him!” he added hastily, off Alana’s furious glare. “But… um… could I just check something for a minute?”

Alana’s glare turned incredulous. “What, Will, could you possibly have to _check_ right now? The location of your dignity? Because I assure you that went out the window along with the last remaining shreds of our friendship.”

Will seemed to deflate for a second, then hauled himself up straight and looked her straight in the face. “Ok, that makes this easier.” He turned to Hannibal, who was gazing at him curiously. “You set all this up so that you could trick me into bed?”

“Not exactly that, no. I merely wished for you to deal with your feelings for me.”

Will rolled his eyes. “There had to be easier ways, Hannibal.”

“I did not plan it in advance, I merely took the opportunity that presented itself.”

“You went to a lot of trouble just on the off chance.”

“I have been to far more trouble than this for you, dear Will,” Hannibal said, gazing at him with a frankly gooey expression that turned Alana’s stomach. Unfortunately, as she turned from one unpleasantly lovestruck face, she found that Will was wearing a similarly sappy look on his.

“Yeah,” he said, with an obnoxiously wistful tone. “Prefer the outcome this time though.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, you’re both as bad as each other!” Alana yelled, beyond exasperated with the pair of them. She turned to leave, and then realised that, while that first attempt was admittedly crude, she had a far more elegant way to mess with her former friends’ heads.

She slid back round and, with a casually cruel tone said, “By the way, Will, did you know Hannibal hates your dogs?”

Will’s head snapped round in shock. “He… he does?”

“Oh yeah, he talks about it all the time.” Then she added, with every appearance of seriousness, “Especially Buster. He thinks he’s rude.” And, grinning at the devastated look on Will’s face, and the murderous one on Hannibal’s, she pivoted, grabbed the car keys, and strode out.

And turned the _Do Not Disturb_ sign to _Please Service This Room_ just for good measure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on [tumblr](http://victorineb.tumblr.com) for more squealing about these two idiots and their stupid pretty faces xD.


	17. Twelfth Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alana discovers a horrifying(ly tacky) surprise amongst Hannibal's Christmas decorations...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for this idea goes to [ishxallxgood](http://ishxallxgood.tumblr.com/) over on tumblr, who suggested it would be fun if Alana discovered a tacky Christmas ornament in Hannibal's house, that bore an undeniable resemblance to everybody's favourite empath. You can see it in all its half-dressed glory [here](https://www.etsy.com/listing/494440635/miniature-dollhouse-fairy-garden-fairy?ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=male%20fairy&ref=sr_gallery_11).

Alana glared at him. His stupid curls. His ridiculous puppy eyes. His perky little nipples. And as for those wings! Tacky as hell.

Alana was standing in Hannibal’s study, into which she had wandered after finishing stripping the ridiculously over-antlered tree in his foyer. She’d come over to help him dismantle his extensive Christmas decorations, Hannibal having insisted that they must come down before Twelfth Night. Alana wasn’t sure of the punishment for failing to meet this deadline (possibly Santa returned to take back all your presents for retroactive naughtiness) but Hannibal had promised lunch as reward, and she thought there was a good chance she could lure him into bed later, so she hadn’t hesitated to get in her car.

Now, as she held a rather large and completely tasteless ornament that bore an unmistakeable resemblance to one Will Graham (or at least a sparkly, half-naked, fairy-winged version of him) she was beginning to regret it.

She’d been surprised to find any decorations in here at all – it wasn’t a room guests were permitted to enter, and Hannibal seemed to keep the lights and ornaments to the public areas of his house. And the Will-fairy did seem so completely out of place, sitting atop the mantelpiece, that Alana had thought at first that someone must have left it as a prank. But as she looked closer, she could see that not only had it been placed with care, a space clearly made for it, but that it was perfectly positioned so that it could be seen by the person seated behind the desk. And as soon as she was hit by the image of Hannibal gazing moonily at this fantasy version of Will, she realised that it was the same look he always had on his face when talking to Will. Or looking at Will. Or occupying the same general space as Will.

_Dammit._

Even after Will had tried to have him killed, it had been that same look: the twinkle in his eyes, the softness around them, the little smile at the corners of his mouth. Hannibal was utterly smitten, and pining away so earnestly he’d ignored his every aesthetic impulse and spent actual money on this hideous, chintzy monument to his crush.

Really, it was almost sickeningly cute.

She was pissed, of course, to have been used as some sort of… stand-in? But it wasn’t as if she wasn’t guilty of using Hannibal for comfort too, after the pain and stress of believing Will to be lost to them. But now he was out, and she’d been wondering why she and Hannibal were continuing this thing between them. The sex was good, sure, but her heart wasn’t really in it, and she’d always had the sneaking suspicion that Hannibal was holding back.

Which made sense, now.

Oh god, did that mean he was thinking about Will while…

As she tried to force down that horrifying thought, her irritation grew, and she snatched up the offending ornament and marched down to the kitchen where Hannibal was fussing over that promised lunch. Advancing upon the counter, she thrust fairy-Will right into Hannibal’s face and snapped, “What the hell is this, Hannibal?”

Hannibal blinked at her, slow like a cat, before an expression of mild bewilderment settled on his face. “Forgive me, Alana, I’m not sure I understand. I believe it is a Christmas ornament.”

“A Christmas ornament that just happens to bear a remarkable, if wildly unrealistic resemblance to the FBI’s pet empath. You and I both know Will doesn’t have a body like that.”

Hannibal suddenly snatched the ornament from Alana’s hands, a flash of annoyance in his eyes. “I truly have no idea what you’re talking about, Alana, but it is terribly rude to insult someone when they are not here to defend themselves. Besides which, I am sure Will looks perfectly pleasant without his clothes on.”

“Given that some consideration, have we?” Alana snarked, crossing her arms and watching incredulously as Hannibal began to stroke the Will-fairy’s hair.

“Not to mention,” Hannibal continued coldly, ignoring her question completely, “how extremely rude it is to wander the rooms of someone’s house uninvited.”

“Oh really? Because I think that pales in comparison to using one of your oldest friends as a sex substitute!”

They stared each other down for a full minute, Alana practically vibrating with rage as Hannibal continued to fondle his be-winged Will proxy. Then something in Hannibal seemed to deflate and he dropped his eyes to the counter, setting the ornament down in front of him.

“I must apologise to you, Alana. You are not and will never be a substitute for anyone. But I have not been honest, to you or myself.”

The sincere regret in Hannibal’s voice softened Alana’s anger immediately. “Hannibal… when did you buy that thing?”

“I… believe it was not long after Will’s imprisonment.”

“Uh-huh. And how much time have you spent staring at it instead of working?”

Hannibal hesitated, reaching out to pet the ornament again before catching himself and placing his hands flat against the counter. “I had to move it out of my office, it was distracting me during appointments.”

Alana stared at him and then burst out into laughter. “Oh dear, you’ve really got it bad, haven’t you?”

There was a smile tugging at the corners of Hannibal’s mouth. “I think, perhaps, I do.”

“Even after…” she gestured vaguely towards Hannibal’s wrists, “everything?”

A sly smile slid onto Hannibal’s face. “It is always good to know one has the attention of one’s beloved.”

“God, I always knew you were weird but…” Alana looked at Hannibal, considering. “Can lunch wait for a bit?”

Hannibal looked mildly disapproving for a second but relented with an only-slightly-put-upon, “It will keep reasonably well in the oven.”

“Good.” Alana grabbed his hand, pulled him round the counter and started in the direction of the living room, calling, “Don’t forget your boyfriend!” behind her. From the corner of her eye, she saw Hannibal snarl a little but snatch up fairy-Will as he went past.

Once they reached their destination, Alana shoved Hannibal gently into a sofa, ignoring his protests, and pulled her phone out of her pocket. She held her finger to her lips, shushing Hannibal who was watching her with a sort of tightly-held panic in his eyes. Which increased to outright terror when the call connected and she spoke.

“Hello, Will.”

“Alana? What’s going on?”

She arched an eyebrow at Hannibal, letting the corner of her mouth curl in a little smirk as she said, in a deadly serious tone, “I need you to come to Hannibal’s house.”

Hannibal’s mouth dropped open and he made to get up off the sofa but Alana planted her foot directly in the centre of his chest and shoved him back down again, only barely suppressing her laughter at the outraged expression on his face. Good day to wear pants.

Meanwhile, Will was objecting from the other end of the line. “Alana, why… what do you need me for? You don’t even want me going near Hannibal.”

Alana rolled her eyes and enunciated slowly for the benefit of the oblivious empath. “I need you. To come to Hannibal’s. Now.” And then, just to make damn sure the idiot fish took the bait: “He’s been acting… off. Not like himself today. He’s-”

And then she cut off both herself and the call.

“There, that ought to get his ass in gear.” She looked down at Hannibal. “And we’re broken up now, by the way.”

Hannibal was openly staring at her, seemingly stunned. After a moment, though, he tilted his head, scrutinising her carefully. “Do you intend some form of reckoning, Alana? Because if so, I must assure you that Will has no idea of my feelings, nor any inclination to reciprocate. He has done nothing to incur your wrath.”

Alana set herself down on the sofa next to him, leaned over, and flicked him on the nose. This caused Hannibal to do a perfect impression of an offended cat, right down to the way he scrunched up his face, and Alana spent several minutes giggling at him as a result. When she finally calmed down, she put her hand over Hannibal’s – who was pouting even more than usual – and rolled her eyes. “Come on, you can feed me lunch and tell me how long this little crush has been going on. And in return, I’ll tell you why I think you’re wrong about that whole reciprocation thing.”

Around an hour later, they were just finishing a rather illuminating lunch (which left Alana seriously questioning her observational skills), when the front door burst open and Will’s voice resounded through to them.

“Alana! _Alana!_ ”

“He just barges in without knocking?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. Hannibal had the grace to look sheepish at the implication.

They both turned as Will rushed into the kitchen, a frantic expression on his face and one hand on his gun holster. Alana was impressed – she must really have been convincing on that phone call.

Slightly out of breath, Will skidded to a halt and stared, his eyes flicking between Alana and Hannibal, evidently trying to work out what the hell he was missing. Eventually, he grimaced and snarled out, “Ok, if this is some kind of weird couple-bonding activity, I don’t want anything to do with it and I _will_ shoot anyone who insists.”

“We’re no longer a couple, actually,” Alana replied mildly, watching for Will’s response with interest (as was Hannibal, practically falling out of his seat leaning forward to hear).

Surprisingly, he didn’t immediately start screaming in frustration, but simply looked from one to the other with cool incredulity, his gaze lingering only a second too long on Hannibal. “Fine,” he said, finally. “So what, then, the fuck?”

“There’s something we need you to look at, in the living room,” Alana told him, rising to her feet and beginning to walk in that direction.

“O… kay. Don’t want to do the dishes first?”

“I believe they can wait,” Hannibal told him, voice a little weak, which drew a suspicious glance from Will (possibly more for the mess left behind than the voice). He followed along easily enough though, flanked by Alana in front and Hannibal behind.

As they entered the living room, Will let out a little bark of laughter as fairy-Will – seated carefully in the middle of the sofa – came into view. “The hell is that thing?” he asked incredulously.

Alana ignored the question and pointed at the seat to the left of mini-Will. “Sit,” she ordered Will, who quirked an eyebrow but obeyed without question. “And Hannibal, you sit there,” she added, pointing to the right cushion. Once both men were ensconced in a fairy-Will sandwich, she took the seat opposite them and gestured towards the offending ornament.

“I found him sitting in pride of place in Hannibal’s study. Any thoughts about that?”

Will, yet again, stared between Alana and Hannibal with a bewildered look on his face, but received no explanation in return. Finally, he looked back down at his miniature doppelganger and smirked.

“So, you want me to figure out who put it there? I’m really better with murderers than pranksters but I’ll give it a shot. I don’t suppose you’ll have had Price or Zeller over for dinner, because they’d be my first-”

“Nobody left it here,” Hannibal reprimanded him, albeit gently.

“Oh, so you…” Light dawned in Will’s eyes and he looked away from Hannibal, chastened. “It’s… very festive?” he added, weakly.

Alana threw her hands up and made a very pointedly exasperated noise. “Look closer, Will. Doesn’t it remind you of someone?”

Inevitably, instead of doing as suggested, Will did that thing with his eyebrows instead. Alana wondered if perhaps it was some rudimentary form of communication that came easier to him than words. She was just considering developing her own dialect consisting of picking up the fairy and beating Will about the head with it, when Hannibal gently lifted it and placed it in Will’s lap. They shared a glance and Alana rolled her eyes for possibly the thousandth time that day, before Will turned his attention to the ornament.

He traced a finger along its curls, unknowingly mirroring Hannibal’s touch. Hannibal himself was watching closely, his entire being seemingly focussed on and yearning for Will’s reaction.

Eventually – possibly encouraged by Alana’s none-too-subtle toe tapping – he carefully set fairy-Will on the floor by his feet and then dragged his eyes up to Hannibal, a blush colouring his cheeks.

“You bought this… brought this thing into _your_ house… because it reminded you of me?”

Hannibal hesitated for a second and then purred, “In fact I find everything reminds me of you, dear Will. Rare is the moment you are not in my thoughts.”

“O-oh.” There was a pause, heavy with tension, and then a tiny smile appeared on Will’s face. “You know I don’t look like that without clothes, right?”

The noise that came out of Hannibal was one Alana had never heard him make before, nor anything remotely like it. It was almost a giggle, almost a whine, and Will looked equally as surprised by it until Hannibal leaned in and pressed their mouths together.

“Finally,” Alana muttered, averting her eyes a little. Or, attempting to: it became a little difficult not to stare when Will climbed into Hannibal’s lap and they both started moaning without any care for volume.

“Ok, you both are gross and it’s time for me to go.” She was reasonably certain neither of them heard her, given that Will seemed to be testing Hannibal’s reaction to hair-pulling (definitely favourable), and turned on her heel to leave. However, a thought struck her and she turned back to scoop fairy-Will up from the floor (carefully avoiding the bodies writhing on the sofa), and carried him out of the room with her.

“You’re coming with me, Will junior. You’re too young for that kind of party.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me and all my Hannigram-related ramblings over on [tumblr](http://victorineb.tumblr.com).


End file.
